


Letters From War

by SowenElf



Category: Alias (TV), Alias AU - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama & Romance, F/M, Military
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 81,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SowenElf/pseuds/SowenElf
Summary: AU: You can't kill people, and dig bullets out of kids, and lose friends in the dirt, and then expect things to be normal when it's all over.
Relationships: Francie Calfo/Will Tippin, Sydney Bristow/Michael Vaughn
Comments: 9





	1. Back To It

_~She walked to the mailbox_

_On that bright summer's day_

_Found a letter from her son_

_In a war far away_

_He spoke of the weather_

_And good friends that he'd made_

_Said I'd been thinking 'bout dad_

_And the life that he had_

_That's why I'm here today_

_And at the end he said_

_You are what I'm fighting for_

_It was the first of his letters from war~_

It was a warm afternoon, Emily walking out to the mailbox and trimming a few of the flowers along the way. The new neighbor waved as he watered the rose bushes his wife had put in a few days ago and she returned the gesture with a smile before turning and flipping down the lid.

A few catalogs and flyers for get rich quick schemes made up the bulk of the delivery, but a small letter tucked away snagged her attention. Seeing his familiar handwriting she gasped and clutched it to her chest, all but running into the house. Slamming the door behind her she tossed the rest of the mail, now forgotten, onto the kitchen table as she tore open the envelope and began reading.

_'I know I promised I'd write more...and I'm sorry mom. But, I made it. I know you weren't too thrilled about me going back, and while I do realize that you're my mother and will worry anyway...don't._

_Our deployment hasn't been that hard - at least not as hard as the first time over here. I suppose it has a lot to do with the fact that I'm not an FNG any longer (FNG being freaking new guy...kinda). It's hot as hell...way hotter than L.A., but I'm in good hands here with my recon team. We've got a good group of guys and while I'm excited that I finally get to be the one to throw around orders and make FNG's do push-ups whenever I want, I can't. These guys are all on their second tour, they know what to do even before I tell them. No FNG's on my recon team at all._

_Takes all the fun out of it, but at least I know that I can trust the man to my left or right with my life._

_I can't help but think about dad while I'm over here and yes - I carry his Purple Heart in my vest when I go out. He might be why I'm here today, but you're what I'm fighting for._

_Stay safe, okay? Happy Fourth of July! I hope this letter gets to you before the holiday. If not, happy LATE Fourth. You can write to me using the address on the envelope, just know that the mail service sucks out here._

_I love you,_

_Michael'_

She wiped at the tears wetting her cheeks and smiled, pulling out the picture he'd sent along. He stood in the middle with what she assumed was his team. Each soldier had their sleeves rolled up and were flexing their muscles, some of the boys there scrawnier than she could ever imagine, their eyes blacked out by sunglasses.

Searching for a frame she finally stumbled across one with a picture of little Michael in his fourth-grade play about eating healthy. Replacing the picture with the crinkled one in her hand she set it up on the mantle next to an older, faded photograph of her husband in much the same pose - standing side by side with the men of his platoon in the green jungles of Vietnam.

Collecting a pen and a piece of paper she sat and began to write her son a reply, but could think of none other than "I'm proud of you".

_'Michael,_

_You are good, and you are brave! You'll be such a good father some day, son. I know your dad would be as proud of you as I am. Make it home...make it home safely._

_I love you,_

_Mom'_

**_…_ **

  
  



	2. War Never Changes

The hot sun beat down on the roof of the Humvee, a young man fidgeting behind the wheel before releasing an aggravated sigh. "This is bullshit."

Vaughn laughed and peered at his companion over his sunglasses from the passenger side seat. "You know that they never give us equipment that works. Think of us as America's pit bulls. Mistreated and beat down until they let us out of the cage every once and a while when they need us to attack something."

Steam billowed from one of the vehicles near the front of the convoy, the bumpy road seeming to stretch on for miles along with the endless dunes of sand dotted with shrubs and bushes.

"This is bullshit."

"Calm down Espinoza, we'll get to the FOB soon enough." Michael laughed as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, the M-16 resting casually on his lap. Sweat beaded and rolled down the sides of his face where his helmet was currently keeping the heat from escaping.  _ 'I'd give anything for a breeze!' _

"At least you're not sitting in the back with no windows, Taco."

"That's racist, white boy." The man in the backseat laughed, his Spanish friend hitting the steering wheel with a tempo that only he could hear.

Vaughn couldn't help but smile at the banter between the soldiers he'd been teamed up with, this car and the one following behind it making up the Alpha Recon Unit. Peeking into the side mirror he spotted Gunny standing through the hole in the top of the armored vehicle, the .50 Caliber machine gun turned to the side as he tried to escape the sweltering heat being trapped in the vehicle. Michael vaguely remembered that their windows weren't working, the two available ones stuck half-way down - or half-way up depending on how hot the day was. Today, they were definitely stuck half-way up.

An hour passed before the convoy began moving, the warm wind better than stagnant hot air, and soon they rolled up to a monitored chain link fence. Passing through they reached the forward operating base, Delta and Charlie having arrived a day earlier. The campsite here was more of a medic field station than a base of operations. Marines were milling about, some doing work and others goofing off. A game of football was currently taking place adjacent to the large circus-like housing tents, the far eastern side coned and roped off as a temporary landing pad for two still black hawk helicopters and a similarly sized medical chopper. Directly next to that was a huge hospital tent, the flaps wide to let in the slightest breeze while showing off the empty cots.

Filing out of the vehicles and stretching, their weapons hanging around their waists, the sounds of camp wafted around them. It was a stark contrast to the sounds of droning Humvees and wind-whipped sand.

"I can't wait to get out of this shit, man," Espinoza groaned as his back popped, Vaughn agreeing as an older man walked over to their group.

"You Alpha?"

"Yes, sir. Alpha here and Bravo bringing up the rear."

"You're late. Get together with Bravo and meet in the command tent in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir."

"See-ya, Vaughn." Faster than he thought they could move his men were out of the cars and picking bunks in the tents, leaving him and the Bravo team leaders to figure out their mission.

Peeling off his tactical vest, the shirt below it soaked with sweat, he stripped that one off as well and tossed both articles along with his helmet back into the front seat of the Humvee. The black tight t-shirt would have to be formal enough.

"Now that Alpha and Bravo have joined us let's get down to the brass tacks."

_ 'Spoken like a true commander,'  _ Michael grinned, he and the leads of the four recon teams standing in the back while the Lieutenants, Commanders, and any of the other higher staff sat around a large recently-constructed plywood table.

"Army Rangers are ready to head into the town of Shaykh, north of Baghdad. They're making their way out of the capitol city and trying to kick some of these Taliban bastards out of the outliers. You might be asking yourselves 'what would the U.S. Army Rangers need with us lowly Marines', right?"

"Hoo-ah, sir," several soldiers called out as they relaxed in their seats, the Commander folding his arms behind him and beginning to pace slowly at the front of the room.

"They need us to make sure that the town of Shaykh is worth their time - which apparently means they want us to waste our time in checking it out for them so we're on recon. Which is what we do best. This will be a month-long survey conducted by all four squads, Alpha through Delta. The drive to Shaykh is about 12 clicks south of camp. Rounds begin tomorrow with Alpha and Bravo seeing as they were late to the party."

"Yes, sir." Vaughn and Sergeant Major Hammer spoke simultaneously.

The meeting was short and they were sent packing, ordered to get their Humvees ready for the trip and loaded up with weapons, water, and food. The recon rotations were every four days, so the only assistance they'd get was from medivac if it was needed.

Exiting the tent they all seemed to go in separate directions, Michael heading straight to the tent where the mail came in. He was pleasantly surprised to find a letter waiting for him from his mother, tucking it into his pocket to read later after he set up his bunk.

The tent marked Devil Dogs in felt-tipped marker made him laugh as he stepped into the surprisingly cool interior where his men were lounging about getting their things sorted out.

"Hey, Sarge-Mage, when we gettin' some action?" The name embroidered into his button-up camouflage shirt was Corporal Steinbauer, his wide black-rimmed glasses sitting high on his nose as he looked up at Vaughn with curious and excited eyes.

"Sooner than you think. We're heading out to monitor Shaykh tomorrow for a four-day recon op with Bravo."

"Shit, man, we just got here!"

"What did you think you were gonna do on a second tour, Taco? A little R & R?" Sergeant Jones shot out as he unpacked his bag despite knowing full-well that he'd be repacking it for the four-day recon operation.

Throwing a boot across the bunks Vaughn caught it and knocked it to the floor, "now, now, children, don't make me separate you. I'll put your ass in the Humvee with broken windows."

"No shit man, can we get that shit fixed before tomorrow?" Gunny growled as he walked in with a towel around his waist as water dripped off his muscled chest.

Six pairs of eyes rolled as Corporal Espinoza, which everyone had taken to calling Taco, laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, why don't you take it down to the local mechanic - maybe they'll give you a sweet deal. You could get some hot-ass rims while you're there."

Sighing and discarding his undershirt Michael pulled the crinkled letter from his pocket and flopped down on his bunk.

"Oooh, who's the letter from Sarge-Mage?"

"I'll bet it's a hot girlfriend. If there are any pics and you find them missing, they're under Gunny's pillow." Espinoza laughed, stripping his clothes off and walking from the tent naked, "takin' a shower," he shouted over his shoulder, cat-calls filling the camp being overshadowed by the famous Taco line "you know you want it!"

"Get a towel you homo!" Steinbauer yelled after his comrade.

Michael ignored them as he smiled at the neat scrawl of his mother's cursive.

_ 'My Little Boy, _

_ You are good, and you are brave! You'll be such a good father some day, son. Your father would have been as proud as I am. Make it home...make it safe. _

_ I love you, _

_ Mom' _

Rolling his eyes as she still insisted on calling him her 'little boy' he slid the letter back into the envelope and into a side pocket deep in his pack. Sitting back up he found his men staring at him and realized he still wore his goofy smile, his mother's words cheering him up immensely.

"What? Do you all wanna take turns reading the letter from my mother? Unpack your shit, alright? Mess tent's gonna open in an hour and then we're on a four-day op. Where the hell is Frogger? Shouldn't he be unpacking?"

Frogger was the nickname for Corporal Lance Franklin, the young black man earning it on their first tour when he sat on a toad at base camp in the states before deployment, deftly giving away his phobia of the amphibians as he hopped around screaming for someone to kill it.

Gunny, short for Gunnery Sergeant James Gunderson, pointed to the west of their tent. "I heard he was gonna play some basketball on the other side of the camp. Apparently, some Delta boys think they're more black than he is and he needs to, as he said, 'rep-re-zent'."

Vaughn laughed as he fished around for his notepad and a pen, set on answering his mother's letter so she'd get it by September if they were lucky.

_ 'Mom, _

_ Have I mentioned that it's hot over here? Well it is. Spending days driving around in the desert with three other Humvee and crammed in with four other guys gets to be a bit rough. Not to mention that they make you wear the biohazard suits just in case, which adds in the factor of insulation. _

_ I hate the desert! _

_ We've got our first assignment! It's easy, so don't panic. We're doing recon in a town about 12 clicks from us, so nothing for you to worry about, they'll never even know we were there. We'll be heading out tomorrow. Our base is the largest medic station near Baghdad, so even if something happens we'll be taken care of. _

_ Paper cuts, scraped knees, you name it, they'll fix it. _

_ I'm staying safe! I got your letter, thanks so much for the words, mom. You're what I'm fighting for, don't forget that. Write when you can! We'll be here at camp for about a month before heading off again. I'll find your letters, don't worry. _

_ I love you, _

_ Michael' _

...


	3. The Morning Of

"Jesus Christ, you're a Marine! Are you really in here about this?"

"C'mon, doc, it…it really hurts."

"Bullshit," the doctor growled, though a dimpled smile shone through the mock attitude. Reaching into a drawer a bright pink band-aid with flowers was produced and put over the paper cut on the large soldier's finger. "Better now?"

"Could you kiss it for me?"

"Get out of my tent!"

Michael passed the snickering young man as he evacuated the medical tent, the flap open behind him. 

"Doc?"

He wasn't entirely prepared for the brunette young woman to peek around a large container, her eyes rolling as she called him over. "What now? Need a shoulder rub; pull a hamstring and need your leg stretched?"

Vaughn laughed and suddenly the nearly steady stream of young men entering and leaving the tent with usually nothing more than a band-aid or a little square of antibacterial ointment made sense – every single Marine was making a move on the 'hot doc'.

"I just wanted to chat since you're the medic on-call. Vaughn; Alpha Recon. We're heading up to Shaykh for a four-day op and the Commander wanted me to check in with the medic team periodically – and that would be you."

"Oh," she blushed, stripping the latex gloves from her hands and stepping out from her corner to shake his hand. "Lieutenant Bristow – good to meet you. I'm the doc on-call and we have a rotation of 24 hours. From here to Shaykh it'll probably take three minutes to ready the chopper, or choppers depending on the emergency, and another five minutes to get there. Keep that in mind if you need to call in. Our radios here are on the same frequency as those in the command tent."

"So…eight minutes if we get into the shit?"

"Eight minutes, six if I can get their asses in gear."

"We're not planning on any problems, so here's hoping you don't hear from me."

A final handshake and Vaughn left the tent. Heading back over to where his men still slept he poked his head in. "Ladies, rise and shine! Only the Army needs beauty sleep!"

Grumbles and groans ensued, though most of the men were rolling out of their bunks and reaching for their camo pants. After rousing, shaving, and brushing their teeth Vaughn got them together for a run. A few of the guys from Bravo joined, though most of the other recon unit had decided that the mess tent was far more important. After three laps around the camp Bravo team had dropped out, Alpha continuing for another three before calling it and catching their breath.

"Go get food; we meet at the Humvees with our packs packed and our gear ready at 0800."

Breakfast was quiet, mostly, until Espinoza waltzed in. "I heard that Sarge-Mage met the medic on-call."

"So?" Steinbauer asked with a mouth full of hash browns.

"Dude…the doc is  **hot** ! Like…smokin'!"

"Down, boy," Gunny chuckled as he slid in beside Vaughn with his metal tray of eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns.

The young man laughed and shrugged the comment off, reaching over and snagging one of Gunny's sausage patties. "Watch it, Taco, you'll pull back a stub if I catch you stealin' my food again."

Faking a tremble he stuffed the ill-gotten meat into his mouth and munched it while groaning and rubbing his stomach over how good it tasted.

Gunny pointed over with his fork at Taco, his words directed at Vaughn; "I'm might have to kill him,"

"That's why you're in separate cars," Michael mumbled through a mouthful of eggs. "But I'll let you know if you can."

Espinoza faked a pout, "and here I thought I was your favorite."

Breakfast ended quickly as Alpha and Bravo got their gear together and began restocking their Humvees for the operation. Water and ammunition were first priority for both the vehicle and reserves for the soldiers. Boxes of .50 caliber rounds were loaded up in the back seat of all four cars within easy reach of the heavy gunners. Smaller cases of 5.56mm and 7.60mm rounds were loaded up as Steinbauer and Jones checked the weapons, the two M249 light machine guns getting loaded and prepped.

Aside from the mounted gun on the top of the vehicles, the backseat LMG soldiers were the fire-power barrage if the group was ambushed, each able to hold between 60 and 80 rounds of ammunition – 120 if they loaded up the large drum.

Bravo milled about as Alpha checked their weapons, Espinoza leaning in as Frogger tossed his medic supply case and pack into the second car, "looks like Bravo got the busted-ass Humvee with the windows stuck up."

While Alpha team had lucked out and had a group of soldiers that had all previously been to either Iraq or Afghanistan, Bravo wasn't so lucky. Out of their whole team, four of the nine guys were FNG's and they looked the part. Hair tousled as if they'd just rolled out of the bunk, weapons hanging from their sides rather than in front of them, barrels pointed into the sand, the four of them stood together off to the side as Sergeant-Major Hammer and Vaughn gathered together.

"You lucked out Vaughn, not getting the noobs."

"Well, what can I say – sometimes you get it easy. You givin' the pre-mission rally talk?"

"Not if I don't have to," Hammer muttered and held his hand up in a fist in the classic pose that said 'we'll decide this by a friendly round of rock, paper, scissors'.

Michael grumbled and lifted his hand up, each man counting to three and throwing out an option. Losing scissors to rock Hammer chuckled and patted Vaughn on the shoulder.

"Best two out of three?" Michael begged.

"Hell no."

"Hey…no offense or anything but I'm gonna have Alpha lead the convoy over,"

"No problem. I've got FNG's. That puts me low on the totem pole."

The commanding officer and his lieutenant walked over, the lower-ranking man throwing out orders that Bravo's new guys desperately hurried to follow.

"Boy you'd better get a haircut when you get back, this ain't a hippy commune!"

"Yessir!" Confusion passed his face, the name on his uniform reading 'McKinley', as he reached a hand up to his short buzz-cut hairstyle.

"And you…you fuckin' new guy. You don't have your safety on! That is a hot weapon soldier! You think you're exempt from the rules?"

The commander sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes the other squeezing the shoulder of his pit-bull of a lieutenant before interrupting.

"Your two recon teams are heading north to Shaykh. Observation only. You'll be splitting up, Bravo using an east entrance and Alpha using the south entrance. Up until you split up Alpha has operational control. This is recon only, understand? We need information about this city, not a bloodbath because one of you hot-headed FNG's decides that he thinks a gourd in a civi's hand is a grenade, hoo-rah?"

"Hoo-rah!"

"Sergent-Major?"

Vaughn stepped up and adjusted his gear, heaving a sigh as he faced the men in both units. "We're all Recon Marines; we know what we're supposed to do. Do not fire unless fired upon, understand? If you misfire…Marines die. Do not break our cover by dicking around. If you break our cover…Marines die. No dead Marines."

"Alright. Alpha and Bravo, we're oscar mike."

Hoots and hollers from the veterans filled the air as the four vehicles loaded up and the engines revved, Alpha and Bravo exiting the compound and heading out on the lonely, long road north.

"'On the road again; just can't wait to get on the road again'; c'mon guys, you know the words."

"Shut up, Taco."

"'The life I love is makin' music with my friends, and I just can't wait to get on the road again'!"

The singing continued with Vaughn and Steinbauer joining in, Jacobsen rolling his eyes and watching the desert fly by. Singing loudly in his ear was their .50 cal operator, Corporal Dawson, his own southern accent filling the rig and making the others laugh. This accent and his love for country music had earned him the unoriginal nickname of Cowboy.

A half-hour later the city of Shaykh rose before them, the road leading up the last quarter mile toward the main southern entrance littered with bombed, broken, and charred vehicles.

Vaughn ordered the convoy stopped and lifted the radio to talk with Bravo team. "Echo 2-2 this is Echo 1-1, copy?"

"Go ahead Echo 1-1."

"We've got a shit ton of blown-up vehicles here on the road about fifty meters ahead of us. They're not blocking the path but I don't think it's a good idea to continue on this road toward the city. I'm gonna get in touch with base camp to get an update. Sit tight."

"Copy that Echo 1-1."

"Home Base this is Echo 1-1, how copy?"

"This is Home Base Echo 1-1, go ahead."

"Sir we've got vehicles on the side of the road approaching the city showing signs of possibly mortar fire, RPG's, IED's, maybe all of the above. I've ordered the vehicles stopped about fifty meters from the action, how should we proceed?"

"What's your honest opinion, Vaughn?"

"Honest? I wouldn't approach via the south road. We could off-road it up to the entrance but if the cause of all this isn't IED's we'll be sitting ducks trying to turn around while getting hit with RPG's and small arms fire."

"Do you see any hostiles on rooftops?"

"Hang on, we'll scope." Pulling the radio-phone away from his ear he leaned his head into the backseat. "Jacobsen, scope up and jump out the hole. Check the rooftops of any visible building and let me know if you see hostiles."

"Yes sir," he was quick to follow orders, reaching behind Cowboy in the tight space and pulling out his sniper rifle, trading his M16 for the long-range weapon. Sticking the barrel out the open top of the Humvee first he set it up while sliding around his teammates. Poking on his upper body out, using his arm and the roof of the car as a prop, he flipped open the lid on the scope and peered through.

"No visible targets on the roof, Sarge-Mage, and I don't see anyone milling around at the entrance or standing guard. IED's?"

"Hell if I know," he growled, something settling low in his stomach, picking the radio back up and continuing. "Home Base we've got no visible targets on the rooftops, nor does anyone appear to be watching the road from the southern entrance. How should we proceed?"

"Follow the operation as ordered, Echo 1-1. Rather than splitting up to recon the east entrance keep Bravo with you. We don't need the shit to hit the fan and have you alone in it."

Michael sighed, shaking his head. Second-guessing his commanding officers wasn't usually his thing, but when it could be the lives of him men he couldn't keep the words from leaving his mouth. "Are you sure sir? I'd much rather recon the east entrance before continuing."

"You've got your orders, Echo 1-1. Army Rangers are gonna be heading into the south entrance, it needs recon."

"Copy that, Echo 1-1 out."

They sat in silence for a moment, Michael pulling Jacobsen back into the vehicle and trying to come up with a plan. "Jacobsen, did you bring a ghillie?"

"Yes sir."

Nodding, he began putting his plan into action. "You see that knoll about 100 meters east of the road? These trenches and blown up cars should give you enough cover to get there if you ghillie up. You need a spotter?"

"I could use one. What about Paul?"

"That'll work. Echo 2-2 this is Echo 1-1, copy?"

"Go ahead, Vaughn."

"Command has reissued orders; you're to accompany Alpha into the town via the south entrance. I'm sending Jacobsen out with his rifle to this knoll east of here can Paul join him?"

"Ghillie up?"

"You got it. They'll be able to give us at least some kind of warning if they pull out mortars or set up RPG's through windows of the outer buildings."

"Copy that." Michael watched in the side mirror as the radio went silent, Jacobsen jumping out of the vehicle and moving to the back to provide cover while yanking the ghillie suit from his pack and putting it on. Shouldering his rifle he crouched low and jumping into the trench beside the road, a skittering of rocks and another covered soldier sliding in beside him announcing the arrival of Paul, his spotter. They slunk off through the trenches, the vehicles moving forward slowly.

"Sarge-Mage?" Taco muttered, his hand gripping the wheel with white knuckles. "Don't you think we'll need J-man if we get ambushed? Five guys are better than four, right?"

"You second-guessing me, Taco?"

"Merely asking for help with a math problem, sir."

"Trust me; you'd rather have him out there."

Moving at a crawling pace Vaughn clicked the safety off of his rifle and ordered both teams to go hot. With a hoot, Dawson readjusted his helmet and made sure his vest was secure, the metal plate over his chest heavy and pulling at his shoulders as he stood and took his position behind the massive mounted gun. Cocking it and hoping that it didn't jam he slid the tactical goggles over his eyes and put his hands on the gun ready to fire it if necessary.

Michael saw Gunny repeat the action in the vehicle behind them, the two Bravo cars getting into gear as well.

Despite the noise from the engines, it was eerily quiet. On a windless morning, the first in days, the clear blue sky shone over Shaykh, the only thing missing from the scene being civilians as they went about their daily routines. There didn't seem to be anyone near the road or where it entered the city.

"Jacobsen, copy?"

"Copy sir, Paul and I are crawling up the knoll we'll be in position soon."

"How soon is soon? Soon isn't a military term,"

"Approximately 13.7 seconds, Sarge-Mage."

Vaughn grinned, sobering up as they passed by the first charred car. Then the second. Still silent…still eerie, they continued until they were approximately twenty yards away from the entrance. Shouting over the radio broke the silence, Jacobson's voice yelling almost incoherently.

"RPG's! RPG's!"

The crack of a fired rifle pierced the air as Jacobson took shots into the city, a cloud of smoke and a rocket-propelled grenade flying over the top of Vaughn's vehicle. Plowing into the road to the right of the rear Bravo Humvee the car was tossed on its side as the ground shook from the explosion.

Gunny and Cowboy didn't wait for orders. Turning the guns on the building where the window filled with smoke from the firing of the RPG they began shooting.

"Everybody out of the vehicles!" Vaughn shouted over the sudden explosions of the loud mounted guns, the doors opening and men pouring out as they took cover beside the vehicle.

Small arms fire erupted from the entrance, the short nearly blown out and bullet-ridden walls providing perfect enemy cover as the Humvee's took most of the damage. The Marines returned fire, their weapons blending in with the .50 caliber guns as they shot blindly at the openings in the cement, aiming anywhere that a muzzle flash could be seen.

Michael attached his communication device over his ear and flipped it on.

"Home Base this is Echo 1-1, we've been compromised just outside the city. RPG's disabled our rear Bravo vehicle and with the cars on the side of the road, we can't turn around. Get the medic team in a chopper and get us Black Hawks for extraction!"

"Copy that, Echo 1-1. ETA: eleven minutes for reinforcements, eight minutes for medical support."

Throwing himself down as another explosion tossed sand and chunks of asphalt up into his faces, Michael pushed back to the second Alpha car. "Frogger! Get back to Bravo two and see if they have wounded!"

Obeying he ducked and scampered off, the medic bag bouncing on his back.

"Seven minutes," Vaughn whispered to himself, lifting his gun and readying the under-mounted grenade launcher. Loading it and cocking it he stood and fired at the entrance. Screams broke the gunfire but it continued a moment later.

"Alpha, on me!" Yelling into his communications link while making wide gestures his men gathered up as best as they could while trying to keep their cover by the Humvees. "Spread out into the debris on the side of the road! Choose your cover! Help will be here in seven minutes!"

He grabbed Espinoza's vest as the young man turned and began to move off, "not you, you stay with me."

Static crackled over his earpiece, the Commander's voice invading his head. "Alpha, we have a problem. We've got one Black Hawk down with engine problems and we're gonna need the time to refuel the other. The medical chopper is on its way, ETA 5 minutes. Reinforcements ETA about 17 minutes."

"Fuck!"

Relaying information Vaughn stayed close to the front vehicle. "Taco, you take up position at the rear of Alpha two, copy? You keep Gunny firing that beast, help him reload if he needs."

Blood rushed in his ears and the deafening sound of the mounted gun directly above him wasn't helping.

"Six minutes."

...

A/N: Alrighty, the terms are below if needed!

**ETA** : Estimated Time of Arrival

**IED** : Improvised Explosive Device

**Oscar mike** : On the move

**RPG** : Rocket-propelled grenade

**Echo 1-1** : Vaughn's Humvee

**Echo 1-2** : 2nd Alpha Humvee

**Echo 2-2** : 1st Bravo Humvee

**Echo 2-3** : 2nd Bravo Humvee

**Home Base** : Command center

**Ghillie Suit** : Used by snipers as cover in desert or jungle environments. This suit makes them look like shaggy dogs (in my opinion). Google it for pics.

**.50 Caliber** : The massive bullets used by the mounted Humvee guns and occasionally sniper rifles (anti-vehicle sniper rifles like the M107 Barrett).

**7.60mm** : The ammunition used for sniper rifles and some assault rifles.

**5.56mm** : The ammunition used for most assault rifles, e.g. the M16.

**Black Hawk** : Helicopter used mostly to drop off additional soldiers. They are usually open on both sides and equipped with a mounted .50 caliber machine gun or chain gun.

...


	4. In The Shit

"Echo 1-1 this is Medivac Rescue. ETA thirty seconds." The pilot waited for confirmation, the radio crackling in his ear with a loud voice and weapons fire filling the comm.

"Good!"

"LT, it sounds hot over there, where the hell are we gonna land?"

"Shit, I don't know. We've got the wing-mounted miniguns for a reason! Drop us off and we'll radio you in to pick us up – until then provide cover fire if possible."

"Copy that."

Smoke billowed in the direction they were heading, two staff arming the guns and coming up fast over the battling Marines. Opening fire on the wall and the buildings behind the minigun tore through the concrete as the chopper circled around and began a descent behind the flipped Humvee. Securing the medical supplies four staff jumped out as the bird left to reclaim its spot circling over the two teams.

"Corporal, what'cha got?" Bristow asked with a shout, tucking the pistol back in its case at her hip and kneeling over a wounded Marine next to Franklin.

"This Humvee got hit hard – flipped by an RPG. We've got burns and shrapnel wounds from the glass of the windows, but no gunshots yet. Those Iraqi's are a terrible shot!"

The medical team dove in, spreading out and assisting mostly the Bravo soldiers that had been inside the rear vehicle.

"Medic!" Frantic yelling from ahead caught her attention, Sydney moving forward and pulling a shocked young man with her.

Crouching the whole way with bullets ricocheting off of the metal of the vehicles she spotted a Marine climbing into the lead vehicle and pulling out a bloodied soldier. Under the dirt, grime, and sweat she recognized him as the lead of the mission, the young man that had introduced himself to her earlier that morning.

Carrying his wounded comrade to the back of the vehicle he laid him on his back, "Dawson!" Slapping his cheeks lightly the man didn't respond, Sydney pushing her way in and unclipping the tactical vest as blood pulsed from an abdominal wound and a bullet hole in his neck. His eyes opened suddenly, filled with panic, and she flashed him a bright smile while retrieving supplies from her pack.

"You're gonna be fine, sweetheart, just relax."

Michael's ears were ringing despite the silent .50 caliber gun above them, Gunny still firing like a mad-man from his position behind them. "He gonna be okay?"

Rather than answer, she pulled out a breathing tube and a scalpel. "He's not getting any air we need to make an airway. Hold this," she ordered, pressing the items into her assistants shaking hands. "Hey…Johnson! Don't zone out on me, okay? You have a job - so do it."

He nodded dumbly unable to take his eyes off the gruesome scene in front of him. Cutting a hole in the hollow of the throat just below the adam’s apple, she inserted the tube, the young man finally taking a shaky and less than full breath.

"You make sure this airway stays unobstructed, alright?" Johnson nodded as she taped the breathing tube to his neck around the incision and set to packing the neck wound with gauze before moving to the abdominal area.

Minutes felt like hours, and Vaughn watched the medics work over Cowboy from the corner of his eye while firing at anything moving behind the holes in the wall. A small object flew from behind the obstruction and landed in the trench to his right, the two men down there scattering and trying to avoid the explosion from the grenade as it went off.

Gunny's direction changed to the place he saw the projectile come from, the huge bullets leaving gaping holes and Michael used the unintentional cover fire opportunity to dive head-long into the trench where Taco, cut up but otherwise unharmed, sat over Steinbauer yanking the pin of his own explosive and chucking it as hard as he could out of the trench and toward the city.

"Get out of the trench!" Following his order, Espinoza retreated away from the vehicles and taking cover behind the charred remains of an old Volkswagen van. Michael hefted Steinbauer up by his vest and pulled him to the edge of the trench.

Peeking over the only person in range was Bristow and he shouted, miraculously seeing her turn to look at him. "Cover fire!"

"I've only got a pistol!"

Hearing his boot camp officers’ voice in his head repeating ' _ do not  _ **_ever_ ** _ give away your weapon' _ over and over he tossed his M16 in her direction. She lifted it and jumped out, peppering the wall with rounds as Michael grabbed Steinbauer and dragged him across behind the Humvees.

Sydney felt the stinging burn and knew instantly what it was. Tossing the rifle back over to Vaughn she gripped her upper arm and felt the blood leak through her shirt and coat her fingers.

"Shit," she growled, picking up another roll of gauze and wrapping it sloppily over the wound, Vaughn pulling his knife out of its sheath and helping her cut it off.

"You okay?"

She nodded without answering, leaning in with her ear over the wounded soldier's mouth. "He's not breathing," she muttered, maneuvering between Dawson and the other medic. "I need you to do chest compressions, can you do that?"

Nodding he placed his hands over Steinbauer's chest and began administering half of the CPR as Bristow breathed into his mouth.

After two solid minutes they stopped, their hearts heavy as the young man still lay between them, breath devoid from his body.

"LT, come in," the pilot crackled over her comm.

"What's up?"

"I took a hit right in the rotor…I don't think I can get back to base with any more crew."

"Fuck! Can you take some wounded with you?"

"Maybe one…but he'd better be a skinny son of a bitch. My pedals are rockin' like crazy up here."

Sydney peered up, seeing the helicopter above them vibrating about with smoke pouring from the top. "Head back, James, get that checked out. We'll have the Black Hawk here in a few minutes."

Michael looked confused as the medical helicopter turned and headed back. "Where's he going?"

"The prop is fucked, he couldn't take anyone else back. The Black Hawk ETA is two minutes, let's get the wounded back behind the flipped Humvee and get them loaded up. They can hold eight passengers seated fully loaded with three wounded on stretchers."

"I've got eight on my team alone, Bravo has nine."

"Then it'll have to be two trips."

Rolling his eyes heavenward they proceeded to carry Dawson and Steinbauer back behind the overturned Bravo vehicle, four other wounded soldiers sitting and being bandaged.

"Can they sit up?"

"Shouldn't have a problem, Sarge Mage."

"Good. Frogger, you get the wounded on the Black Hawk, ETA two minutes. Whoever else we can pile in safely will get a seat."

As they talked the .50 cal ahead went silent, Vaughn quickly seeing what happened to Gunny. His eyes spotted the soldier vaulting out of the hole and out onto the desert floor, coughing as dust filled his lungs and the breath left his body. The Humvee shook with the explosion, one of the insurgents clearly lobbing a grenade into the top of the car.

"You lucky shit!" Michael yelled, bolting out and dragging the Gunnery Sergeant back to the rear position. "Jacobsen, get Paul and Espinoza and get back here." Bullets continued to zing past, ricocheting off the metal of the cars as he heard a crackled reply from his earpiece.

"Copy that, Sarge Mage."

The roaring of an engine overhead and the scattering of dust temporarily blinded the group. The descending Black Hawk, with the side-mounted gun going crazy, setting down next to them.

A volley of orders flew around, two medics jumping into the chopper and assisting with boarding the wounded. Loading them up until it was nearly full Michael peered in and saw two seats left. There were four of them plus the doc.

"We should get Steinbauer in. He needs to get home." Bristow's words rang true to each Marine there. 

"Espinoza, grab a stretcher if you can."

Bristow and Vaughn moved forward, her grabbing the legs as gently as she could as Vaughn wrapped his fingers around his vest and hefted him up. Jacobsen and Paul jumped up over the trench and tossed off their ghillie suits, crouching down and looking expectantly for orders.

"J, help them get in the chopper, I think you're staying here till the next trip with me."

"I'm staying too Sarge-Mage." Espinoza piped up, the zing of a bullet making him flinch as it bounced off the metal of the car and slammed into the dirt at his feet. He moved off toward the chopper, slinging an arm around one of the wounded Bravo soldiers and helping him in the aircraft.

A whooshing sound filled the air and the ground shook. The RPG hit in front of him, throwing Vaughn backward as Steinbauer's torso landed over his lap. He landed hard on his back coughing and spitting sand from his mouth. His ears rung but he sat up quickly to see where it had hit and if anyone else was going to be a casualty of this operation. Gunny had been pushed by the blast a few feet away, his hands up over his face, blood seeping from between his fingers as he yelled obscenities and writhed on the ground. Paul and Jacobsen were picking themselves up on the other side of the mini crater along with Espinoza, the ground charred sand between them and their commanding officer. The medic had been tossed, the crater located where she'd once been standing.

"Oh shit!" Clambering over he and Espinoza spotted the medic lying unconscious in the dirt. "Lieutenant! Hey, Bristow!"

Espinoza was the first to stand and maneuvered around above her. Grabbing her vest by the shoulder straps he hauled backward getting her behind the Humvee and out of the line of fire, everyone left gathering around to assist. "Shit, Sarge-Mage...her fuckin' leg, man." Dragging her backward had highlighted the shredded and blood-soaked half of her left pant leg, the limb inside now lying in a million pieces around the crater behind them.

" **Medic** !" It seemed like the four Marines yelled all at once, Frogger jumping off the Black Hawk with the young medic Johnson on his heels. Bristow's eyes flew open as she grimaced, reaching down toward her leg as it throbbed in pain.

"No…no, sit still." Michael surveyed the damage and set a hand to the front of her vest, pushing her back to the ground. Cuts and abrasions adorned the left side of her face along with dirt and char. "Jacobsen, Frogger, you guys see to Gunny - get him on the chopper.

"Holy shit," Johnson muttered as he crouched down, the pilot yelling through his comm. that he'd have to get out of there quick.

"Wrap it up and we'll get her on the chopper."

Picking up the stump and wrapping it in gauze Vaughn could see her consciousness slipping away. The medic tightened the tourniquet around her upper thigh as she groaned in pain. "Hey, Bristow, stay awake, okay? You get my seat out of here."

"No…I…it can't be that bad - I can stay."

"You took an RPG to the ass, LT. You're going back."

"My rank is higher than yours," she reminded, darkness edging along the corner of her vision as her extremities started to numb. She dimly felt hands wrapping something tight around her knee, but couldn't say for sure. It had hurt a moment ago, but now it was just a dull throb.

"Higher or not – you stay still. You're gonna be just fine."

She heaved a sigh and shook her head in an attempt to clear her vision. "Shit…how bad is it?"

"You're fine. You'll...you'll be fine."

"I'm the one that always says 'you'll be fine'…I know what it means. How bad?"

"Bristow…you've got my seat, alright?"

He got the nod from the medic and picked her up, carrying her over to the chopper as hands lifted her in and set her onto a stretcher. Johnson moved over to assist Frogger as they wrapped Gunny's head obscuring his vision before they too hopped in for extraction. Vaughn and the others stepped away and hunkered down next to the overturned Humvee as the Black Hawk ascended and turned to head back to base.

…

Incredible pain flashed through her whole body, and though she wanted to sink back into the black oblivion of sleep, she forced her eyes to open. The shrill beeping of the otherwise sound-devoid room made her frown.

' _ This isn't the tent…where the hell am I?' _

"Psst…hey…she's wakin' up."

Two faces all of a sudden were above her, one she recognized as the man that Sergeant Major Vaughn had been referring to as Dawson – the man she'd created an airway for. The other she vaguely recognized, but they scattered when the doors opened.

"Get back to your cots," a voice growled, Sydney merely closing her eyes and willing her mind to focus.

"Where…am I?"

"Lieutenant Bristow, you're in London."

"London? When…what…how…"

"All in due time, alright? I'm putting you on a water drip to try and get the drugs out of your system, okay?"

"I don't…understand."

The doctor sighed, shining a flashlight in each eye and making her headache all the worse. "You're going home, Bristow."

"What?"

"You've got a one-way ticket back to the States."

"Shit…it must'a been bad then, huh?"

"Well…it's not pretty. From all accounts, the explosion was quite close."

Gunny spoke up from his position on his cot, a patch over his right eye. "Close? She took it in the ass."

"Thank you, Mr. Marks." Scolding the soldier with a scowl the doctor continued. "You'll need severe rehabilitation, Lieutenant, but there are doctors state-side that can help you with that."

"How bad is bad?"

"You lost the bottom part of your left leg, Lieutenant. I'm sorry – it'll take some time to adjust, but I figured I'd just be straight with you."

Tears filled her eyes as she attempted to lift her head up, her eyes catching the bandages around the stump. Just below the knee…her leg was gone.

"When…how long ago did I get here?"

"You were wounded last Thursday, and you've been out for about five days. I'll come check on you in a bit, alright?"

With that he left, Sydney unable to pull her eyes from her leg.

"Hey, Bristow, I'm sorry." Gunny stood and made his way over, sitting on the edge of her cot. "I lost my eye when the damn thing hit. A fuckin' rock took it out."

"Shit…this…this wasn't how it was supposed to be, you know? I've done two tours already."

"Third time's a charm, eh?"

She couldn't help the masochistic laugh that bubbled out, her heart feeling heavy and her mind reeling.

"Hey have...you heard anything about the guys that got left behind? About Vaughn? I'd like to thank him for getting my ass out of there."

"Nothing new...still missing."

"Missing?"

Gunny nodded sadly. "Vaughn, Taco, and J-man are all still missing, according to the reports I've heard. And the Bravo sniper, Paul. The Rangers hit the town two days ago and there's no sign other than their dog tags."

"He gave me his seat on the chopper," Sydney mumbled, Gunny patting her arm and moving back to his own bed.

"Hey...did...did Vaughn have a wife - or girlfriend? I want to write them a letter. You know they'll never get anything from the military that gives them any info."

"Nah - no wife, no girlfriend. He was married to the Marine Corps. His mom does live in LA though, they kept letters back and forth."

"Any idea what her name is?"

"Umm...Amy? Emily? Something like that. You really gonna write to Vaughn's mom?"

"Yeah. I mean...I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. She deserves to know everything I do. Which...isn't much...but, it'll be better than a letter from the services saying 'we are doing all we can'. Thank you,"

"No prob, LT."

The other soldiers curled up on their cots but Sydney wasn't able to find sleep. The pain was there, a never-ending dull throb, and she knew that the road ahead wouldn't be an easy one. She closed her eyes, the unconsciousness descending.

...


	5. Home Again

By the fifth ring she almost hung up, but a quick answer and a hurried and breathless, "Hello? Hello? What?" made her laugh.

"Damn, Will, they still keeping you that busy?"

"Holy shit...Sydney?"

"Yeah."

"Hang on a sec." Murmured voices and a lot of cluttering noises made her smile while sitting in the uncomfortable chair waiting for her plane. "Ouch! Damnit! No...I said I'd get to that. Look...I'm on the phone!"

"Will?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Syd. So...to what do I owe the pleasure? How's Iraq?"

"That's' a weird question," she muttered as she looked around and saw about a dozen people staring at her with sympathetic eyes. Donned in her military garb, the left leg of her pants hanging loosely down to the floor, she averted her eyes and concentrated on the voice of her friend.

"Yeah, I suppose so. What's up?"

"I'm coming home. I was just wondering if...if you or Francie could pick me up from the airport."

"Coming home...didn't you just get there like, three months ago?"

"Well...you know how war is."

"Syd, are you okay?"

She didn't quite know how to answer. "Not really. My flight gets in at like, two in the morning. Can you pick me up?"

"Sydney Anne - I know you. What happened?"

"Will, I got shot, okay? I'll be fine - but they've sent me home. Can you pick me up?"

"Shot?"

"Yep."

"How?"

_ 'Shit.' _

"With a gun."

"Syd...you know I'll pick you up. I'm a reporter though. I'll grill you later, but you will be grilled." Grabbing a pen and piece of paper he jotted the information down. "See you at 2 a.m. okay?"

"Thanks, Will, I really appreciate it."

Hanging up she heard the announcement for her flight. Reaching for the crutches to her left she stood, hobbling a bit.  _ 'Jesus. Re-learning how to walk is a pain in the ass.' _ She faltered a bit when lifting her carry-on bag, one of the crutches clattering to the floor. Casting her eyes heavenward she heaved a frustrated sigh.

A young man approached her, his Army uniform crisp and clean. He reached down and grabbed the crutch and handed it to her, saluting and holding his position.

"As you were. Thanks for the help soldier."

"Thank  _ you, _ ma'am." He made his way back to his friends and family.

Boarding the plane she sat quietly in her seat staring at the back of the seat before her.

_ 'How the hell am I gonna do this?' _

...

"You sure she said this terminal?"

"Francie, I wrote it all down." Will paced as she sat flipping through a magazine.

"And that means that you can't screw something up?"

Casting a glare at her he continued his pacing.

Sydney watched them from the side exit of her terminal as she tried to find the courage to make herself known.  _ 'Well...there's no time like the present. Jesus, you jump in and out of choppers and into combat without a second thought-' _

_ 'But,' _ her brain interrupted,  _ 'you were  _ **_trained_ ** _ for combat and jumping out of choppers.' _

Heaving a sigh she hobbled forward, the crutches still feeling a bit unnatural. "Who you waiting for?"

Will whipped around and spotted her there, Francie dropping her magazine and grinning from ear to ear. "Syd!" They yelled simultaneously, bounding over and engulfing her in a group hug.

"Easy...woah...easy guys!" They pulled back eyes immediately going to the crutches.

"What, did you get shot in the ass?"

"Close actually. It's gonna be a bit different from here on out guys," she mumbled, pointing down to her leg.

"Oh my god, Syd...you...I'm so sorry sweetie!" Francie's hand flew over her mouth and tears fell from her eyes, Sydney waving her off though she felt the familiar welling and tightening at the back of her throat.

"We'll get used to it. You sure I can stay with you guys for a while?"

Will set a hand to her shoulder, "Syd...you can stay with us forever, okay? Let's go get your bags."

Gathering them up and heading outside Will ran to get the car as she and Francie waited by the curb. "How...did it happen?"

"We’ll have plenty of time to talk, I promise."

Seeing the look on Sydney's face made Francie let it go.  _ 'What does it matter how...I mean...it happened.' _

The ride home was silent, Sydney ignoring the throbbing in her leg – which she was getting used to – and Will and Francie holding back their desire to ask a million questions lurking behind their lips. Getting to the apartment and unloading her things Will helped her to the door with the heavy bag over his shoulder.

"Good god, Syd, what did you bring back? Rocks?"

"Hey, the first thing they teach you in the Marines is how to pack a bag. Well...how to get yelled at, and  _ then _ how to pack a bag." Flopping down onto the couch she sunk into its comfortable cushions. "This is the most amazing couch ever."

Francie laughed as she set herself down facing her friend, Will dropping the bag and claiming the seat across the way as a yawn escaped his lips.

"Why don't you two go to bed? It's like, middle of the afternoon for me." She spotted their hesitation, flashing them each a dimpled smile. "I swear, I'll tell you all about it. Just…not right now. I kind of want to just pretend that everything is normal."

"Does your...dad know you're home?"

The reporter's question cause an eye roll, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "Someone probably told him I'm out. Not much gets past the Admiral's desk, even from a different branch."

"Well, I'm going back to bed. Syd, we turned the office into an extra room so it's all ready for you. I'm glad you're home, despite everything, and that you're safe." Pressing her lips to Sydney's forehead Francie departed.

"Hey, do you have a phone book?"

Will cocked his eyebrow before reaching into a bag on the table and pulled out a laptop. "Phone books are so last century."

She laughed, accepting the computer and sitting it on her lap. "Who you lookin' for?"

"A woman with the last name of Vaughn, though I'll probably end up calling a few of them before I find her since I don't know her first name. She lives here in LA and I need to talk to her about her son."

"Was he a Marine?"

Sydney paused, not knowing how to respond. "Hopefully he's still a Marine."

...

Emily sat up as fast as her protesting back muscles would allow at the sound of the ringing phone. Tossing her gloves on the ground she flew into the house cursing that she'd left it on the counter. Sticking close to home knowing that Michael may end up at a base with a phone, it was all but glued to her hand wherever she moved around the house.

Grabbing it and pushing the button she breathlessly uttered a hello expecting to hear his laughing voice on the other end.

"Is…is this Mrs. Vaughn?"

The smile left her face as she rolled her eyes heavenward. "For goodness sake, I'm waiting for an important phone call! I'm on the do not call list for solicitors!"

"No…wait…I'm not a solicitor!" Yelling since she assumed she was being hung up on, the voice waited for a moment. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry dear, I just assumed…well never mind. This is Mrs. Vaughn, what can I help you with?"

Sighing in relief, audible over the speaker on Emily's end, "I don't know if I even have the right person, I'm just going through a list. Do you have a son in the Marines? Michael Vaughn?"

Feeling as if her heart had slammed to a stop, her chest reverberating with the frantic beats, Emily nearly fell into the closest chair. "Yes…Michael. Are…you – are you with the…notification services?"

On the other end of the line, Sydney's heart broke for the woman, tears springing to her eyes as Francie tightened her grip on her hand.

"No…no ma'am, I'm not with the notification service."

"Oh thank goodness. I - I couldn't handle a phone call like that."

"I was stationed in Iraq with Vaughn and I'd like to talk to you in person if that's possible. This…isn't a conversation for anything less than face to face."

Emily thought hard for a moment, unsure about how to feel. The raw bubbling emotions of thinking her son was dead were still rampant throughout her entire being, and though she was worried about meeting with a stranger, this truly wasn't a stranger if this young lady served with her son.

"I know that I'm a stranger calling you; you don't know me but - but I need to talk with you about your son. Please."

"Do you have a pen?"

...


	6. Acquaintances

"Fifteen minutes…there has to be something else to clean around here," the older woman growled as she got up from the couch for seemingly the hundredth time in the last five minutes. Settling on the vase across the room she couldn't help but pass the photo her son had sent her in his previous letter. "Oh, Michael, you promised you'd be safe!"

Tears welled in her eyes once more, unable to keep them dry since the phone call yesterday.

Minutes ticked by like hours, the nervous mother pacing for part of the time and folding her hands. Peeking from the window at the sound of a vehicle she sighed with both relief and with frustration as it drove on past the home. The day was sunny and cool, the middle of December mild compared to the summer months, and a breeze ruffled the large American flag hanging from the side of the house.

Finally, a large blue Suburban mostly colored with spots of rust pulled up and parked in front of the house, a young man in the driver's seat. Backing away from the window quickly her hands began to sweat and she walked in a wide circle in the foyer in an attempt to steal her emotions away and not burst into tears the moment she opened the door.

One knock happened several minutes later, followed timidly by another. Emily was beginning to think that they'd changed their minds and driven away, but even with her expectation, she jumped at the abrasive sound in the quiet house.

Reaching out slowly she gripped the knob, taking a deep breath, and pulling the door open.

**…**

"So…who was this Vaughn guy?"

The ride so far had been silent, Will driving Sydney to see another Marine's mother.  _ 'This has to be connected to her injury, maybe it'll give me a little something for the hero piece I'm writing.' _

"Honestly? I don’t really know him at all. I met him in the morning, they were going on some operation, and things went bad. We flew out to assist and, well, that didn't go too well either. He gave me his seat on the rescue chopper and that's the last thing I remember.” She laughed, “I think I talked to him a whole three times, though I don’t remember everything about the third conversation.”

Her voice was quiet, her fingers twining back and forth on her lap atop her crisp and ironed blue pants, the military outfit impressive to anyone that respected the servicemen and women. He left it at that, following the directions he'd printed out. They turned into a nice neighborhood, kids darting out of the street as Will slowly followed the paper until they pulled up in front of a two-story home with a magnificent garden. The flapping American flag hung out front, neat and clean showing the care that someone put into it.

"This…this is gonna be hard. Will…how do I tell a mother that she might not ever see her son again?" Tears pooled and spilled down her cheeks, her friend shaking his head with a sigh before reaching out and taking her hand in his.

"I don’t really know, Syd. You sure you just want me to wait out here? I’ll go in with you if you need me to."

Wiping at her cheeks with her free hand she squeezed his with a sad smile, truly thankful for his offer of help. "Yeah just…help me out and I'll power through the rest of it. I feel like I have to do this, you know?"

"Yeah."

Jumping out and reaching into the back for the set of crutches he helped her to the sidewalk. "Seriously though, I'll be right out here okay? Take your time, I've got my laptop and I'm supposed to be writing an article anyway."

"Thanks, Will. You're too good to me." Pressing a kiss to his cheek she took a deep breath and swung the crutches forward, the medals and adornments shining in the sunlight from their spot sewed into her jacket.

The bubble of mixed emotions sat both low and high in her stomach as she reached the front door, the deep red of the paint setting it apart from the bland white and brown doors of the other houses. 

_ 'Seriously, you don't need to keep memorizing patterns like colors of doors and numbers of windows,'  _ she mentally scolded, shaking her head and returning to the present. Another moment of hesitation passed before she realized she'd reached up and knocked once – then twice.

A shuffling of feet could be heard, though her hearing wasn't what it used to be since the explosion so it could have been her imagination. The doorknob wiggled a bit before it slowly opened, and the nervous face of the older woman with shoulder-length white hair made her want to run and hide under the largest rock she could find.

"Are…are you Sydney?"

"Yes ma'am." Her voice sounded so tiny, almost childlike.

"Please come in."

After fetching the lemonade and deciding that their visit would be more comforting on the patio out back, Emily led the way. The wide hallways were perfect for the crutches and Sydney was thankful that there weren't any stairs on the way to the backyard.

Deciding at an attempt to break the ice, Sydney piped up. "You have a beautiful home," Emily turned with a small smile, thankful for the young woman's words.

"Thank you."

Arriving on the patio, a pitcher of lemonade waiting as well as a plate full of chocolate chocolate-chip cookies, Emily smiled at the scene. "Everything goes better with a batch of chocolate cookies, dearie."

Laughing as some of her nervousness washed away Sydney leaned down and sat in the closest chair before resting the crutches on the ground behind her.

"I couldn't help but notice the leg…I'm sorry." Pouring two glasses of lemonade and passing one over Emily sat across from the young Marine.

"It's taking some getting used to, that's for sure."

"I'm also sorry if you find my questions forward, but all I ask for is your honesty." Sydney answered with a nod waiting for the worried mother to continue. "Is my son dead?"

The brunette's mouth opened and closed several times before she sighed and spat it out, "I don't know. I came here today to tell you what I  _ do  _ know. It might not be what you're looking for but…I owe it to Vaughn to tell you as much as I can."

Emily gripped the cloth napkin in her lap as tears welled in her eyes, Sydney waiting a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Your son saved my life, Mrs. Vaughn.”

"I – I wouldn't be sitting here right now if he hadn't been on that mission. I was the medical officer on call and Vaughn introduced himself to me the morning before they left. We honestly didn't think anything would go wrong you know? I mean, most of the guys had been there before on other tours...I'd been there twice before that."

She paused, taking a sip of lemonade and trying to figure out how deep she needed to go. The mission was by far not classified and Vaughn's mother needed to know the truth from someone that had been there, not from a file clerk in an office somewhere.

"But things went wrong. The mission went bad and Vaughn knew it. He radioed in asking for permission to change parameters, but Command wasn't going to bend. As far as how it started, I couldn't tell you. They called in saying they'd been ambushed and needed reinforcements and medical evacuation and so we scrambled and got ready and left.”

"From the sky, it just looked like...ants. Ants fighting behind the smoke and the ruins. On the ground though, it was hectic. One vehicle had been hit and rolled and was blocking in the others so they were essentially trapped and fighting off the whole damn city. My team got on the ground and started helping and I didn't see Vaughn until he dragged one of his teammates over.”

"We lost a soldier in the dirt - nothing we could do. Reinforcements showed up and we found out we were one chopper short so that meant that people would have to stay behind to wait for the next ride out - probably fifteen to twenty minutes away. Vaughn and I with a few others were going to stay and try to get the wounded or as many as possible back to base.”

"We were teaming up on a litter - er, stretcher when an RPG hit behind us. A rocket-propelled grenade. I - I remember lying on the ground with this ringing in my ears and not really knowing what had happened. His face appeared above me and I...things are fuzzy, but he said I'd be okay and that I had his seat on the chopper. After that...everything just goes black, I'm sorry I don't remember more.”

"What I do remember though is waking up in London almost a week later and learning that he and the three other men that stayed behind weren't rescued when the chopper showed up. As of right now, Mrs. Vaughn, your son is missing. They don't know where, how, or any of the other helpful answers and I filled out my retirement papers, so I’m out. But I have...connections and I promise that I’ll try to get as much information to you as I can."

Emily choked back sobs as her shoulders shook from the effort of holding her pain at bay.

"I'm sorry I...I wish I could have done more. Or that he was in my place, I really do."

The mother shook her head almost violently, reaching out across the table and grasping the younger woman's hand. "Don't you...you dare wish that! Michael w-wouldn't want his gift to - to be wasted on regret."

They sat for what seemed like forever, Emily silently crying and Sydney holding her hand. Squeezing from time to time their eyes finally met and they shared a soft smile.

"I'm sorry to bring this to your door...but I knew he would have wanted me to tell you everything I could - so here I am."

"You're an angel, Sydney, truly. This...this will take time for me to bear. But - but we don't know he's dead, right?"

Sydney smiled a genuine smile, the first in a long time. "He could be very much alive right now trying to make his way back to you."

The thought sent a wave of calm over Emily and she couldn't help but sigh while tilting her head back to look up at the sky beyond the overhang, clouds looming in the distance with a hint of rain that would probably never come.

"Michael and I would lay out in the grass there and make shapes out of the clouds. He...never knew his father. Bill passed away in Vietnam shortly after the war ended and a few months before Michael was born."

"I'm sorry."

Emily crooned and patted the back of Sydney’s hand over hers. "His death I eventually moved past. I just remember catching my little boy up in the office one day wearing his father's hat and jacket, his bright green eyes shining and his fingers gripping the medals and pins. He was destined for the military from that moment on."

Sydney nodded reminiscently. "I did much the same, though my father was in the Navy. Is...is in the Navy. We don't...speak much. Well...not at all really, not since my mom died."

Emily winced and patted Sydney's hand, glancing at the watch on her wrist and declaring it dinner time. "Would you like to stay for dinner, Sydney? I'd be happy to have you."

"I really shouldn't, I left my ride sitting in the car out front."

"Oh my goodness! We've been here for nearly two hours, dear!"

Sydney laughed waving her off, "don't worry, it'll just force him to finish the article he was probably supposed to have finished yesterday. He's a reporter for the Tribune, and a lazy one at that."

Struggling to get out of the low chair, Emily stood and moved to fetch her crutches. "Thank you for coming and speaking with me, Sydney. You really have no idea what it means to me to hear this news from a person and not from a letter."

Making their way to the front door they stopped and Sydney was surprised when she was engulfed in a large warm hug.

"Can we stay in contact?"

Smiling at the hopeful look on the torn mother's face, Sydney nodded. "Of course. All my information is written down on this piece of paper, and I'll gladly take a rain check on the dinner."

"You're an angel for coming here and much more brave than I. My son may have given his life to save yours...I'm happy to share in his sacrifice by knowing you." Her voice quavered and saline drops coursed down well-defined paths along her cheekbones. "Let me walk you out to the car."

In the vehicle Will jumped and turned off the small recording device before pocketing it, pretending to be surprised as he spotted them heading toward the vehicle. Guilt laced his soul as he put on a smile and hopped out.

"Young man, you didn't have to hide in the car. You're more than welcome next time to use my office upstairs if you're going to accompany Sydney. Or you can join us."

Saying their goodbyes they pulled away, Emily waving sadly behind them before walking over to the mailbox with sad, downtrodden strides. Finding only a single tattered letter inside sobs rose to her throat as her watery vision blurred out the word 'Mom' followed by her address.

**...**


	7. Memories

"Tell me about your relationship with your father," the psychiatrist said slowly, her glasses low on her nose as she peered up from her notepad. "I understand that he too is in the armed forces and has been since you were a child."

Sydney mentally rolled her eyes as she forced out a nod and a smile. "Yeah. He’s in the Navy."

"That must have been hard, Sydney; growing up with a father in the military."

The young woman shrugged as she avoided the gaze of the doctor, averting her eyes to focus on straightening the crease of her dress blue pants.

"He wasn't around a lot, but he was serving his country. I didn't understand that as a little kid, but I did when I got older."

A silence passed for a moment, the scratching of the psychiatrists' pen against the yellow pad like the grinding of nails on a chalkboard.

"When was the last time you talked with your father?"

"Before I left for Iraq."

Scratch, scratch.

"You two don't...speak much?"

"I have a question." Interrupting, Sydney finally looked up from her lap. "I thought I was here to talk about my  _ trauma in the line of duty _ \- the P.T.S.D. and Shaykh."

"I'd like to know a little bit about you first if that's okay. I don't want to jump into the lake without knowing how to swim." The older woman sighed, tossing the notepad on the coffee table and removing her glasses. "Let's cut the bullshit, okay, Sydney? You're stuck here with me – and though I've read up on your military record, quite impressive I might add, there are things that I personally would like to discuss with you before we get to Iraq. Is that okay with you?"

"I don't think I have much of a choice. Part of my disability approval requires therapy."

"Good. So…tell me about your dad. Was there ever a time where you weren't disappointed by his marriage to the military?"

Sydney frowned as her eyes once again fixated on her lap. The frown faded as she slowly nodded, "there…there is one memory I have from when I was a kid. When I was ten-years-old, I was on the local area soccer team and we'd made the championships. I remember being so upset that my dad wasn't going to be there. I mean…I knew he was overseas but I didn't know that meant he couldn't come back whenever he wanted to. So it was the championship game and we're tied up one to one, and…and I was in goal. This big black car rolled up and he stepped out and I just…I just ran to him. They scored and we lost the game, but I didn't care I was so happy to see my daddy. But…that was when I was ten. Things changed when I enlisted and then got worse when my mom died."

“Could you tell me about that? The death of your mother?” The blonde woman was writing several notes but looked up when the silence lasted longer than normal. The terrified look on the young soldier’s face made her back off on the questions and set her notepad down. She flashed a comforting smile with a shake of her head.

"Maybe next time. That was good for today. I’ll see you in two weeks, okay?"

Sydney nodded as she hobbled to her feet, the doctor grabbing the crutches and handing them over. "Thanks for sharing that with me, Sydney. We'll tackle the other stuff soon, okay?"

"Thanks, Dr. Barnett."

Maneuvering down the hallways, getting pretty good on the crutches after three weeks, Sydney pushed the swinging door open and re-entered the lobby. Emily smiled and shoved her book into her large purse before standing up and pulling the surprised young woman into a warm hug.

"I'm proud of you, Sydney."

Laughing, she brushed the compliment aside. "It was the first meeting; she basically asked me what my name was and about my relationship with my dad. Typical shrink."

"Well, baby steps, dearie, baby steps. You have to crawl before you can walk."

The bright sun nearly blinded them both as they loaded up into the car and drove out of the lot. "How about some lunch? It'll be on me," Sydney announced, "as thanks for being my chauffeur today."

"Oh, it was my pleasure, honey. I'd just be sitting at home thinking about Michael anyway, it's good to get out. What do you feel like eating?"

Settling on Thai food, the restaurant packed, Sydney gave Emily her order before picking a table against the wall to keep people from tripping over her crutches. She was almost getting used to the stares, though she wished it was less noticeable and that people were more subtle. If she was in uniform, like today, she would get the occasional man that would salute as he passed, some that would flash the U.S.M.C. emblem tattoo on their arm or leg or shoulder and give a wink.

This crowd was really no different though they went back to their meals as Emily arrived with the dishes in her hand. "Here you go, Pad Thai."

"I didn't realize how hungry I was," Sydney mumbled as she sprinkled the peanuts over the noodles and stirred it up before digging in. "This was truly the one thing that drove me crazy about Iraq.  _ No Pad Thai _ ."

They shared laughs and stories as lunch passed, a group of Marines walking in and sitting across from the pair. Sydney looked over, recognition dawning on her face.

"Weiss?"

The young man turned at the sound of his name, confused for a moment that someone outside of this group would know it, especially his last name. Upon seeing the woman across from him he whooped with a smile, tossing his napkin back on the table and leaping out of his seat which caused it to topple over onto the floor.

"Holy  **shit** !" he shouted before jumping the small distance between the tables as she simultaneously hopped up and vaulted into his hug.

Emily couldn't help but smile as the other Marines just carried on with their conversation, apologizing to the folks around them as they righted the chair. "You know how Marines are," one said, eliciting a laugh from a group of college girls behind them, a waggle of the eyebrows making them whisper back and forth.

"Oh my god, you look great compared to the last time I saw you. It’s so good to see you!" Though her words were muffled against his jacket he nodded and pulled back, cupping her face and wiping at her tears.

"C'mon, you stitched me up…of course I look good."

The young man excused himself from his party, pulling out an open seat and joining Sydney and Emily.

"I take it you're a friend of Sydney's?"

"Weiss, Eric Weiss. I was her chopper pilot for two tours. Woulda been three if I hadn't gotten shot down."

"Oh my goodness!"

"Yeah, that was a nasty one." He grinned, leaning back in his seat.

Sydney nodded with a laugh, "you don't have to tell me, I was there."

"What happened?" Emily asked, concern mixing with curiosity in her eyes.

"God, Weiss, how long had we been there?"

"Two months."

"Two months in we get a call to resupply this outpost, so we fly out. As we're coming in an RPG hits the tail and we spin out of control. I gotta give him credit though; he set it down as easy as he could. I got lucky and ended up getting tossed out just before it hit the ground."

"That's  **_lucky_ ** ?"

Sydney waffled a bit realizing that they weren't talking to another Marine but a civilian who had no idea what it was like over there, aside from the stories on the news. "After the chopper hit the ground it spun on its side, the blades snapping and flying all over the place. So I'm about ten feet away trying to figure out what the hell just happened after eating more than a mouthful of dirt. I hightail it over to the chopper to see if everyone was alright. Weiss was messed up, to say the least."

She paused in her storytelling as the memories of her dear friend injured in the dust flashed through her mind, as well as the other events that had unfolded that day.

"The door had bent in on impact shoving its way through my flight suit and into my stomach so yeah…I was pretty messed up. We had to call for another chopper which took about fifteen minutes, and until then Bristow kept me awake and wrapped me up while taking care of the other two medics and the co-pilot. All in all, she was amazing; stabilizing a broken arm, a fractured hip, and leg, and my gaping stomach. Oh…and the broken back that Jackson, the co-pilot, had. All while taking out the terrorists and probably single-handedly winning the war without anyone knowing."

Emily was stunned into silence as her mouth hung open. "Wow…that's incredible."

"If it wasn't for Bristow here, I wouldn't be alive."

"Yes you would…you're too stubborn to die."

"Hey - I’m sorry about the leg," he looked shy for a moment as he back-tracked, not sure if he should have brought it up. Sydney just waved him off as she took another bite of her noodles.

“Neither of us had great luck in that damn country, did we? Afghanistan was weirdly way better.”

"Yeah," she whispered poking at a leftover piece of chicken on her plate.

They shared a moment of silence, Weiss wiggling his eyebrows. "Wanna see my scar?"

The women laughed and asked for a rain check, Sydney and Eric trading information before exchanging another hug and leaving the restaurant into the cooling afternoon.

"That was an amazing story, Sydney; you're lucky you survived. Both of you are."

Shrugging she placed the crutches into the backseat and climbed into the front. The beginning of the drive was quiet, Emily seeing that her passenger was lost in thought so she let her be.

" _ Bristow, you'd better get your ass in gear! That sand storm's coming in, we gotta go!" _

" _ You're as patient as ever, Weiss. You survived weekend leave, eh? You get laid?" _

_ Weiss grabbed the spare medical pack from her hands and tossed it into the chopper before pulling his friend in for a hug. "It's good to see you too, Syd. You ready for another fun-filled adventure in the Middle East?" _

" _ Ha! 'Fun-filled'. Riiight," she sassed, hopping in along with two other medics carrying several crates of supplies. _

_ The desert below whipped past as a dust storm in the distance limited their vision to one or two kilometers. "Do we know what we're flying into and why we're doing it as a sandstorm blows in?" _

" _ Just a supply drop, routine shit for you Mr. Pilot." _

" _ Bitch," he growled over the headset as the crew laughed, the co-pilot punching him in the arm. _

" _ Be respectful! She's not only a girl but a higher ranked girl!" _

_ A few minutes passed as they hovered a click away from the coordinates, the wind rocking the chopper as the town of tents sat in the distance. "Can you radio them to meet us here? With the wind and the dust, I don't have a clue where the fucking landing zone is. They either meet us here or we crash into the tents and die." _

" _ God, you're such a baby! Echo three, echo three, do you copy?" _

" _ This is echo three, identify yourself, over." _

" _ This is Medical Chopper one zero five four seven with your supply drop. We're about a click from the camp and need a Humvee rendezvous to drop off. The pilot says, and I quote, 'I'm a baby and can't see the landing zone', end quote." _

" _ Ha, ha, copy that. We'll get a team together. ETA ten minutes." _

_ A few minutes went by before one of the medics moved in his seat and squinted against the blowing sand. "Hey…I think I see movement out there." _

" _ Paxton, there's nothing out there but dirt. There's no way any of our guys are here yet." _

" _ No…I'm not fucking around. There's a group of guys out there." _

_ Weiss rolled his eyes, keeping the chopper as level as he could. "Bullshit, the desert's messing with you. Get back in your seat." _

_ Paxton watched as a flash of light illuminated the billowing dirt, an RPG careening toward the chopper. "RPG! RPG!" _

_ It exploded into the tail taking most of it out as the helicopter began to spin out of control. "Fuck! We're going down! Hold on to something," Weiss yelled over the instruments on the panel beeping and blaring, the medics in the back clinging to whatever they could find as Sydney realized she hadn’t hooked up to the connection point. _

_ Their close proximity to the ground meant that they didn't have far to fall, though the spinning made it difficult to flatten out so the helo landed on its stomach. Fighting with the pedals as much as he could he flipped over to another channel on the radio. "This is medic chopper one zero five four seven going down in the dirt. Send helo rescue ASAP! Current location is-" _

_ The damaged tail hit the ground first stopping the rotation but causing it to jerk to the right before listing left, Sydney tossed from the open side in the commotion, her hands in the process of trying to clip in. The chopper landed hard on its left side, the blades slicing through the sand and snapping off before the engine stopped and everything lay still in the whipping wind. _

_ The dust storm raged around her as she tried to gather her bearings. Her side throbbed, the medic bag slung over her shoulder not the softest thing to land on, and she was fairly sure that she had one if not more broken ribs from the fall. Her head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, the ringing in her ears forced her to lie on her back for a moment to collect herself. Sitting as quickly as she could she shook her head to try and clear her doubling vision before rising and stumbling over to the chopper. _

" _ Weiss! Paxton!" _

_ The chopper was lying to the left side, a broken prop holding it up at a slight angle, and she removed the medical bag from around her shoulder. "Incoming," she shouted before tossing it into the opening and moving to the co-pilot’s door. Yanking it open she noted that he was struggling against his harness with a grimace of pain written across his face. _

" _ Hold still, Jackson. Can you tell me if you're hurt?" _

" _ My…my back feels weird." _

" _ Okay. I need you to leave your harness on, okay? Don't release it, it'll hold you in till rescue gets here. If your back is broken you could paralyze yourself if you move. Understand?" _

_ He nodded, his hands relaxing and going limp across his lap. _

_ Sydney stepped up into the open door and used that leverage to get onto the side of the chopper and into the large opening. Both medics were lying against the wall, sand blanketing the inside of the aircraft through the broken side windows, the wall now the floor due to the tilted angle. The supply boxes were still tied in the cargo net behind the seats and she pulled out the knife from her hip and sliced the fabric away to access the cases. _

" _ Bristow?" _

" _ Hey, Paxton, how you doin'?" _

" _ Fuck…I…I think my arm is broken." Attempting to sit up he clutched his right arm as it hung limply down at his side. _

_ Maneuvering across to him she ordered, "hold on to your arm, okay?" As he complied she grabbed the front of his vest and hefted him up into something of a sitting position before letting him recline back against the wall. Crawling to their medical supplies, several tossed around the fuselage, she was happy that she found what she needed. Pulling out a sling, securing it around his arm and neck to keep it stable, she knelt in front of him. _

" _ Hey, look at me." Removing the small flashlight from her front pocket she clicked it, though it didn't turn on. The glass at the front was broken, the bulb as well, so she tossed it out of the side of the wreck in frustration. Snagging Paxton's from his pocket it clicked on and she shone it into his eyes. "You have a concussion so you need to stay awake, alright? Stay awake. If you feel yourself starting to fall asleep, I need you to start talking to me, okay?" _

" _ Yeah yeah…I'm a medic too." A smile passed his lips and she couldn't help but grin before turning her attention to the other medic. _

_ The other young man lay on his side, unconscious in a crumpled position. "Hey, James? C'mon…James!" He didn't wake so she did a cursory check to make sure that she'd be able to move him into an upright position. Sitting him up he groaned as his eyes flew open in pain. _

" _ Good…good. I need you to tell me where it hurts, okay?" _

" _ My…my hip. God…oh god it…it hurts!" His cries didn't go unheeded, Sydney figuring a broken upper leg or hip bone. Laying him back down he calmed a bit, Bristow flattening him out and putting a spare sling under his cheek to cushion his head. "Better?" _

" _ Yeah…a little." _

" _ Good. Sit tight, okay? Rescue's on its way." Checking his eyes she was surprised that he didn't have a concussion, so she let him pass out. _

" _ Weiss?" _

_ Climbing over the seats and into the front of the chopper she spotted him lying against the door, the broken glass scattered around his head and chest. "Weiss?" _

_ He was unconscious so she clambered as quickly and carefully as she could in next to him. Undoing the harness he slumped farther down, a groan escaping his lips. "Weiss? Wake up." Slapping his cheek gently his eyes parted and he looking up at her. "Hey there, how you doing?" _

" _ What…happened?" _

" _ Well…you crashed the chopper," she mock-scolded, leaning in to grab at the front of his vest. "Anything broke?" _

" _ I didn't crash, I got shot down. Umm…my side feels weird, but probably because I landed on it." _

" _ Can you sit up you think?" _

" _ Yeah…I think. I'm really dizzy," _

" _ It's probably a concussion, I have one too. C'mon, Let's get you up a bit." _

_ Hefting him towards her he groaned, the tightness of his side worsening. Looking down where he'd been lying he spotted blood. "Whoa, stop." _

" _ What?" _

" _ Blood, Syd…lots of blood. Lots…lots of my blood." _

" _ Shit," she growled, climbing up to sit on the panel where she saw the jagged piece of the door as it jutted up towards the pilot, the red blood coating the side where he'd been lying. "Oh shit…" _

" _ That bad, huh?" _

" _ Umm…I…I can fix it, hang on." _

_ Ignoring the throbbing of her side she vaulted herself back into the interior and began digging through the first crate. Voices from outside made her stop, relief coursing through her as she assumed the Humvees had arrived to find the chopper crashed in the dirt. Arabic wafted on the wind, Sydney freezing where she stood. _

_ They began yelling, two shots firing and causing her to jump. Paxton's eyes opened as she shushed him, reaching for the M-16 lying next to him in the sand and glass. They continued to shout, Jackson's voice echoing through the hollow interior. _

" _ Just…just wait…hang on," he begged, Sydney staying low though she heard the sound of jingling as they unbuckled his harness. Watching, she saw him disappear as he was hauled out of the chopper. _

" _ Shit!" Her hands shook terribly as she made sure the weapon was loaded, cocking it as quietly as she could. Crawling her way up to the front she peeked out of the open door as three insurgents armed with AK-47's, one carrying a reloaded RPG launcher, stood over the injured co-pilot ordering him to do what she assumed was to sit up. _

" _ I can't, okay? I can't get up, I can't move. NO move." _

_ They removed his pistol from his hip and placed it in a pocket, shouting at him in Arabic. When he didn't comply they kicked him, his cry of pain making her wince. _

_ Weiss whispered, "what the fuck is going on?" _

" _ Shh, shut up. Don't say a thing." _

_ Climbing out as best as she could, the M-16 at an awkward angle due to the constraints inside the cockpit she got to a position where she could aim it out the door. Fighting past the blurred and double vision and the pain from broken ribs, she aimed and pulled the trigger. _

"Sydney? You okay?"

Emily's quiet voice jarred her from her memory, and she looked around her to see that they were parked in front of Will and Francie's apartment. "God, I'm sorry, Emily. I was just thinking about stuff, I didn't mean to be away for so long."

"It's okay, sweetheart. Look, why don't you come by on Saturday, we'll do lunch. I can pick you up if you need."

"Yeah…that sounds good. Thanks again for the ride, I really appreciate it."

They shared an awkward hug over the center console, Emily kissing her forehead as if she was a child. "Call me if you need it, okay?"

"Okay," she promised, flashing a dimpled smile. Gathering her crutches she made her way up the walk and to the door, maneuvering the key and finally opening the door. Turning and waving Emily drove away, Sydney walking into the air-conditioned living room.

The house was quiet, Will still at work, and Francie still at the restaurant, so she took the opportunity to retreat to her bedroom and flop on her back on the padded blankets of her bed.

She could still hear the ear-rattling shots of the M-16 as it reverberated through the cockpit and she couldn't help but see the jerking motion of the insurgents as they were hit by her barrage, the sand beginning to cover them instantly after their bodies fell to the ground.

_ Staying quiet she waited a moment, the men lying in the sand as Jackson moved about, attempting to crawl back toward the chopper. Looping the shoulder strap around her neck she climbed up and out, landing with a groan and falling into the sand. Crawling over to Jackson she lowered the visor from his helmet over his eyes to keep the sand from getting in, putting a hand to his chest to let him know that he was okay. _

_ He panicked and began throwing him arms about the second he felt someone touching him. "Whoa! Jackson, it's me; it's Bristow. Stop!" _

_ He calmed a bit, opening his eyes to see her kneeling over him. She stood and wrapped her arms under his armpits, hooking her hands over his chest, and began to drag him back over to the chopper. "I'm going to lay you here, okay? I don't want to move you any more than you've already been moved, so keep that visor over your eyes so the sand stays out. Can I get you anything?" _

" _ Thank you, Bristow. You…you saved my ass." _

_ Squeezing his hand she reached down to her side and pulled out her pistol, placing it in his hand. "Use this if you need it, okay?" _

_ He nodded and she climbed back into the chopper, looking down at Weiss. He was deathly pale and had his eyes closed as he rested his head against the sand and broken glass. "Eric? You still with me?" _

" _ Sure," he wheezed, Sydney taking it as a good sign that he was awake, even if it was barely awake. _

_ Moving into the back she reassured Paxton as he sat with his pistol in his hand. "You keep watch, okay? If anyone tries to get in that isn't a Marine, you shoot 'em. Understood?" _

" _ Okay." His teeth were chattering from what she assumed was shock and likely rattled nerves from the shooting that had happened, but this allowed him to focus on something to keep him awake. _

_ The gauze wasn't in the first case, Sydney growling as she picked it up and threw it out into the sand, aiming for the rear of the chopper so it wouldn't land on Jackson outside. Diving into the second crate she grabbed as much as she could get her hands on, lifting the medic bag back up and wrapping it around with the M-16 she filled it to the brim. Maneuvering over to their supplies she pulled out two bags of blood and an I.V. kit blinking past the throbbing headache that was beginning to settle into her forehead. _

" _ You know…we're gonna have to make a second supply drop," Paxton grumbled, his frank words making her stop for a moment. A grin crossed her face and she couldn't contain the laugh that bubbled up. _

" _ It'd be just our luck, wouldn't it?" _

_ He laughed along with her, Sydney patting the top of his helmet as she climbed back up into the front. Peering out at the insurgents she noted that they were right where she'd left them so she turned her attention back to Weiss. _

" _ Hey, let's get you wrapped up." _

" _ Sounds fun," he whispered, his voice barely audible, and she grabbed her surgical scissors from her vest and began to cut away his flight suit around the tear that the jagged metal had made. Getting down to the wound she stopped, watching the blood pulse out slowly, and sighed. _

" _ Yeah - fun," she grumbled, grabbing a roll of gauze and cutting it into long strips before bundling them together. "Okay, I need to put some gauze straight into the wound, okay? I'm going to try and pack it before I wrap it. It's gonna suck, but you can't move okay? You can't move, and I can't hold you down." _

_ Weiss groaned, "hooray," sarcastically before nodding that he understood, Sydney's hands as gentle as she could manage. He moaned and thrashed his head back and forth, the medic pausing for a minute to wad up some gauze and shove it into his mouth to give him something to bite down on that wasn’t his own teeth or tongue. _

" _ Alrighty. All packed. You're going be fine, Weiss, I promise, okay?" She sat back up and hooked one of the blood bags above them on a dial for some flight instrument. Cutting the sleeve of his arm she closed one eye to stave off the blurriness of her concussion in an attempt to find a vein for the I.V. needle. After a single miss-poke, she was successful as life-saving blood flowed into the pilot’s pale body. _

_ Spitting out the gauze he brought one hand up to wipe at the tears that had fallen. "What did you say?" _

" _ I said you're gonna be fine,” she mumbled as she checked the flow and taped it to the skin at the crook of his arm. _

" _ You…aww shit. I'm…I'm gonna die aren't I?" _

_ She couldn't help the tears that filled her eyes as he fixed his frightened brown gaze on her face. "Oh, honey, you're not gonna die. You're too stubborn to die." _

_ Wrapping as she talked quietly to him, she used six out of the eight rolls of gauze around his middle. It wouldn't hold for long, but hopefully just long enough. _

" _ Bristow! Hey!" Jackson shouted from outside, Sydney squeezing Weiss' shoulder as she peered out the open door. _

" _ What?" _

" _ Lights," he pointed tiredly ahead, three Humvees rolling up as the ground shook around them. A second Black Hawk began its descent a couple of dozen feet away throwing the sand around even more than before. _

" _ Weiss, the chopper's here, okay? We'll get you back and I'll sew up you, I promise. Paxton…Paxton don't shoot, they're friendlies, okay?" _

" _ Okay," he shouted back, his pistol falling to his side as he relaxed against the wall. _

_ Sydney climbed out as best as she could, opting to fall to the sand below than try and make a decent landing. Feeling hands help her up she stood and saw another team loading up Jackson onto a stretcher. "He's likely got a broken back, be gentle with him. We've got the pilot inside, Category alpha, the door sliced his side open. I've got the wound packed and he’s getting blood, but we'll have to get him into surgery ASAP. Two medics in the back have a broken hip or leg, and a broken arm." _

" _ Shit…you did this all yourself?" _

" _ I’m a doctor, it's what I'm supposed to do," she answered, the group putting a bottle of water in her hand and leaving to get the wounded out of the crash site. Sliding down with her back against the metal she sat in the blowing sand at the front of the wreck until she was loaded into the Black Hawk along with Weiss. _

"Hey, Syd? You home?" Will's voice echoed through the house, her reply bringing him back into her room. "How was therapy."

She shrugged and stayed on her back as she studied the ceiling. "I…I killed people over there, Will. Three people."

He leaned on the door frame and looked over at her with sympathetic eyes. "Did you save anyone?"

"Lots."

"Then it was worth it."

**...**


	8. The Passage of Time

"Syd, you're sure you're okay?"

"Will, it's an automatic. All I need is my one foot, and it's the right foot. I'll be fine."

Will slid the food into the backseat before walking over to the driver’s side window. "Can I have the keys please?"

"I just want to make sure you'll be safe."

"C'mon, dad, give me the keys. I've spent the last eight years of my life jumping out of helicopters, the three years before that learning  _ how _ to jump out of said helicopters. I think I can drive a damn car." Her dimples swayed him, Sydney leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek before turning the key and roaring the engine. "Listen to that…purrs like a kitten."

"It should, it's brand new."

"Yes, it's  _ my _ brand Mustang that you've kept me from driving for the last week."

"Okay, whatever. Have a good time, okay? Tell Emily I say hi! Don't go crazy in that thing, Syd."

She waved as she pulled away from the curb, passing her old Bronco as it sat with a for sale sign in the back and side windows. The vehicle being a manual transmission was impossible for her to drive, at least until she got her prosthetic, so a new car was in order. And since the Military was paying, she went all out and got herself a cherry red Mustang with black leather interior.

Cranking the stereo she jumped onto the highway, her foot hitting the gas as the sports car took off. "God it feels good to drive again," she mumbled to herself, plugging in her MP3 player and turning on some classic driving music.

Killing the volume as she pulled into Emily's neighborhood, she parked on the driveway and looked at the sea of cars lining the street.  _ 'Good god, she said people would be here, but I didn't think that many people,' _ she thought, tapping on the window making her jump as Emily laughed behind the tinted glass.

Opening the door and getting herself out awkwardly she spotted the mother with her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face. "What?"

"A Mustang?"

She just laughed and leaned against the beautiful car. "C'mon, it was on the Corps. Damn right I got a Mustang. I've always wanted one of these things. Here, I brought deviled eggs and potato salad, courtesy of Francie."

Emily lifted the food into her arms as Sydney grabbed a single crutch from the back seat and followed her up to the house. "Exactly…how many people are here?"

"The usual," Emily said casually, a little too casually for Sydney's liking.

"You forget that I'm not actually in the family, Emily, I don't know what the usual means."

"Oh, you're in the family now, dearie."

They opened the door and stepped inside, a sea of noises from the living room making her turn to see the younger members of the family jumping around and playing games. Making their way to the kitchen was difficult, Sydney having to work around scampering children and chatting adults. The kitchen was equally as full as nearly half a dozen women stood cooking, mashing, and kneading. The back patio was filled with people as well, Sydney dutifully following Emily through to the backyard where she set out the finger foods.

"Tony, come over here for a minute," Emily wrapped an arm around the unsure young woman, an older man making his excuse and leaving a small cluster of people before jogging over to the two of them.

Sydney first noticed his striking green eyes and chiseled cheekbones, almost identical to Michael Vaughn's, from what she could remember. "You look just like Vaughn," she muttered, a blush rising up her cheeks.

"Well I should, that's my last name."

"Sydney, this is Tony. He's Bill's brother and Michael's uncle. Tony, this is Sydney Bristow."

She held her hand out for a shake, surprised when he skipped the hand and pulled her into a hug. "You don't shake hands with family," he ordered, Sydney laughing as he broke the ice. "C'mon, let me introduce you around."

With that, she was whisked away to meet and greet as many people as she could before lunch. Emily stumbled across her an hour later, the group of men and the single young woman laughing against the tree in the back edge of the yard.

"You're kidding me, Sydney, that's hilarious!"

"Nope. He was such an asshole before he got shot, and the wound was big enough, so I literally sewed the word ‘ass’ into his backside. He didn't notice until a grunt spotted it in the showers and started busting his balls about it. I was told that I would've gotten written up about it if the commanding officer would have been able to stop laughing."

"What are you all up to?"

They straightened up, most of the men pulling the cigars from their mouths and trying in vain to hide them from the intruder. "Just…talking war stories, that's all."

"Well, it's lunchtime, vets. Let's go," she ordered, clapping her hands as Tony chanted "hut hut hut hut" and they marched off toward the huge table set up on the patio.

Grabbing plates, Tony stood at the head of the table before everyone dug in. "I'd like to give a toast if I can," he paused, clearing his throat. "I just want to thank everyone for coming today for the annual Vaughn Family Christmas. Not everyone is able to join us this year, but…we're thankful for those that have made it down. I want to lift a glass to one special guest here…this young lady at the top of the table. For those that haven't met her yet, you're missing out, but this is Sydney and she and Michael served together in Iraq a few months ago. She's home now, and even though he isn't, he will be soon. Hoo-rah," he lifted the glass up, chants echoing across the patio from the large military family as they all dug into their meals.

Sydney attempted to bat away tears as she glued her eyes to her plate, almost refusing to look up at the glances that the Vaughn family was giving her. She felt Emily's hand on her knee under the table, the woman merely eating her lunch while comforting the girl beside her.

The most interesting thing that Sydney noticed was that the Vaughn family didn't do presents, unlike most American families at Christmas. "We are the presents and the time we spend together once a year is just like opening a present. You get new stories and sometimes you get to meet new people," someone had explained to her, Sydney nodding in agreement.

Slowly as the evening progressed, many people left as long drives home kept them from staying any longer. Soon, Emily and Tony were the only two left, along with Sydney, as they stood in the kitchen doing dishes. Emily washed as the young Marine sat on the counter to dry before passing it off to Tony.

"Emily, why don't you go on to bed? Sydney and I can handle this, it's…it's a job for Marines."

The older woman laughed, seeing that Tony had been waiting all night to talk to the young woman without any prying eyes or ears. "Alright you two, but don't worry too much about the food. You can just put it in the fridge and we'll get to it tomorrow."

Pressing a kiss to Sydney's forehead, getting onto her tiptoes to reach, Tony leaned down and accepted his own kiss on the cheek before watching her walk up the stairs.

"Okay, spill it. I…I want to know what the hell is happening with my nephew."

"I…I don't know. I've tried to get information from my father…but his secretary just sends me to his voice mail saying he's busy. I'm trying to get as much as I can…anything…we just don't have any information yet."

"Do you think he's dead?"

She paused for a moment, trying to distinguish what she thought from what she hoped. "I…I hope he isn't."

Tony nodded, knowing full well what that statement meant. "Look…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be harsh, I'm just concerned, you know?"

"I know."

"I'm happy you're here, Sydney. Truly, I am. I'm happy that…that Michael's sacrifice, if he is dead, resulted in saving your life."

"I'm not," she muttered, finally loosing the truth with a huge sigh. "I don't…I don't think it's fair that I'm here and he's not."

"Why not?"

"I'm not saying it to belittle what he did for me, I'll forever be grateful. But look. My family…is my dad. That's it. My mom's dead, my dad and I never speak; I don't have aunts, uncles, brothers, or sisters…and Vaughn has this amazing family. He has  _ you _ ."

Tony leaned against the counter behind her with his hands crossed over his chest as he listened to the young Marine vent.

"What right do I have to be  _ here  _ with  _ his  _ family on Christmas when he's god-knows-where? Maybe even dead?"

"It's not whether or not you have the right, Sydney. Look, things happened the way they happened. You're here…Michael isn't. That's a fact that we all have to live with…you included. Sydney, we're very happy that you're here with us. For you to even contact us to tell us what you knew…it took balls. We don't blame you for anything. We'll welcome you with open arms whether or not you like it or agree with it."

"I just…it's strange, you know? Just…for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he's not here."

"Me too."

They continued to wash dishes in silence, Sydney feeling remarkably better about everything after the brief ten minute chat with Vaughn’s uncle. Feeling even better than when she talked to her therapist. Packing the food up and wiping down the counters, Tony prepped leftovers for her to take home, despite her protests.

"C'mon, let me walk you out to your car."

Hobbling along on the crutch she pushed the button to unlock the doors, hearing a wolf-whistle from behind as Tony stopped and began to drool over the red Mustang. She couldn't help but giggle as she tossed her crutch into the backseat.

"You like?"

"Are you kidding?"

"I decided that after getting my leg blown off in the deserts of Iraq…I deserved it."

"Abso-fuckin-lutely." Putting the food in the back he helped her into the car, leaning in the window for a moment before she took off. "Look, Sydney, don't be a stranger, okay? You're in the family now and we want to make sure you're taken care of. If you need anything, you call."

"Thanks, Tony." Pressing a kiss to his cheek he stepped back and waved as she pulled out and made her way down the street, a feeling of peace washing over her for the first time since waking up in the hospital those many months ago.

...


	9. Demon Dealings

Sydney sat on the couch massaging her thigh and knee, the stump below now fitted with a new metal casing and three-inch jutting bar, which happened to fit perfectly into the adjoining socket of her new prosthetic leg. Opting for the simple titanium leg with the ballistic gel cover, which helped it look and feel like a real leg, she was still getting used to the pain of walking on it again. It had been seven months since her last mission in Iraq, and though her physical therapy was over and her leg didn't hurt so often, the installation of the prosthetic and the pressure of walking on a metal rod took some getting used to.

As a fun alternative to her 'every day leg', as Will had begun calling it, she got a strange-looking prosthetic for jogging and running. Tuned into the amount of pressure and push she could exert with her right leg, this spring-like leg was going to be perfect for her exercise routines. She'd tried it out earlier that day with Will, but her leg was just too sore for a full mile. Will was happy to cut it off early since the last time he'd run was before she'd left for Iraq.

Sighing into a glass of wine late into the evening, excited that her pain medication was no longer needed since she wasn't able to consume alcohol with it, she snuggled into the couch and flipped on a movie. Halfway through, the cell phone on the counter rang.

_ ‘It's 1 a.m., who the hell is calling me at 1 a.m.?’ _

A moment of panic rose from her stomach making her heart beat a bit quicker. Hopping over to the counter she stared at the illuminated, buzzing screen for a moment before answering.

"Dad…I -"

"Sydney," he interrupted. "I…I didn't expect you to answer due to the hour. I – I apologize if I woke you."

"No, I was up. Seven months or not, I'm still somewhat on Iraq time."

Silence.

"Yes. I know the feeling."

Another moment of silence.

"I got your card," she grumbled, a frown marring her face. Despite how mad she was after opening the 'Get Well Soon' card she'd received her first week back from duty, some small, childish part of her was glad that her father had even bothered to send something at all. The child was beaten back by the adult of cold hard reality, and she'd decided that a get well soon card was an inappropriate gesture for a leg being blown off in the line of duty.

Silence.

"I'm sorry it was so informal. I didn't quite know how to initiate contact with you once you'd returned."

"Christ, dad, I'm not a mission briefing with another admiral. I'm not a grunt waiting for your signature. You don't have to 'initiate contact' with me; I'm your daughter."

Silence.

She sighed into the phone. "What do you," she started, stopping after the words wouldn't come. "Did you need something?"

"I wanted to call and tell you that I did get your messages about looking into that Marine. Sergeant Major Vaughn, was it?"

A moment of excitement flitted in her stomach at the thought of her father doing a  _ favor  _ for her and maybe even getting some news. "Did – did you find anything? Anything at all?"

"Still MIA; assumed POW. No leads on his location, though some early reports from the Army Rangers north of Baghdad indicate a possible POW presence. There will be a tactical insertion of Navy Seals next Tuesday into a suspected Taliban camp."

"How solid is your intel?"

Silence, though she could hear papers ruffling in the background.  _ '1 a.m. and he's still at work. Some things never change.' _

"This is about as solid as anything coming out of Iraq. Baghdad is close to falling. Our chances of finding any living POWs get harder day by day, but," he paused, looking over at the photo on his large, oak desk, his daughter ten-years-old and in her soccer uniform, perched on his hip. Both parties brandished huge smiles, the likes he hadn't seen or delivered in over ten years. "But I – I hope the operation is successful and that your friend is found alive."

Silence.

While she didn't doubt that her father did indeed hope that 'her friend' was found, his mechanical way of speaking put her on edge.

"Thank you for looking into this, dad. His family and I have become very close and they've been waiting for a long time for any information. This Marine saved me. Did you know that?"

"Yes. I – I read your report."

_ 'Of course you did.' _

"You could have just called and asked instead of reading a report."

Silence.

"I'm – I'm sorry that I'm not very good at staying in touch."

"This isn't about staying in touch. You were never good at staying in touch. This is about sending your daughter a fucking get well soon card after I got my leg blown off in Iraq. This is about you never caring about anything but Navy business – never caring about me or my life."

"I've always cared about you and your life. When news hit my desk of your injury…I did everything I could to get you home as quickly as possible. Everything I could to make sure you were safe. You and the Marines that were injured with you - your team."

"Everything except for visiting me in the hospital? Or calling and asking if I was okay?" She sighed heavily into the phone. "Thanks for the information on Vaughn. Good chat, Admiral." Hanging up, anger consuming her, she tossed the phone back onto the counter and tried to shake off the adrenaline bubbling inside.

Grabbing the crutch from its spot leaned against the side of the couch she quickly moved down the hallway and poked her head into Will's office. He was tiredly and slowly typing, the words seeming to just leak out of him in an unexcited and unhurried pace.

"Hey," she whispered. He jumped even at the quiet voice and relaxed a moment later.

"What's up? Who were you talking to?"

"My dad."

Will perked up and swiveled in his chair to meet her eyes. "How did that go?"

"I'm gonna snap on the leg and go for a run. Wanna go?"

_ 'No. I'm so damned tired…gotta finish this piece by 6 a.m.…need…sleep.'  _ "Sure."

Saving the document he'd been marginally working on, he sneaked into his room and grabbed his running bag. Francie slept soundly in the bed, arms and legs tossed about in an effort to get comfortable without his presence.

Twenty minutes later they were at the track. Two o'clock in the morning wasn't the most popular time at the field, so they were isolated and alone.

"Did I tell you that he sent me a card?"

"Your dad?"  _ 'That came out of nowhere.' " _ For what, the birthdays he'd missed?" Joking, he stretched his legs and winced. They were still sore from earlier; this run was going to tear him up, he knew.

"When I got back. I mean…when I was discharged. He sent me a fucking 'get well soon' card."

Will didn't respond. He merely shot her a wince and nod before making sure his laces were tight. "Go easy, okay? That leg is new for you, and you're still adjusting. Don't get too crazy."

Thirty minutes later he had to bow out. Sweat poured down his face and neck, his shirt all but soaked and his legs trembling like those of a baby deer. But still, she ran. She couldn't keep the angry thoughts from her mind.

Anger with her father.

Anger from the soreness of her leg. No – her stump.

Anger from the mission.

Anger from the people she'd lost.

Anger from the people she'd killed – three of them.

Anger with her father.

True to Star Wars lore, as Will would jest, anger gave way to sadness and she felt the hot tears on her overheated face despite the fact that she was sweating.

Sadness because of her father.

Sadness because of her leg – her stump.

Sadness because of that last mission – the warnings that were ignored.

Sadness because of those she'd lost.

Sadness because of the lives she'd taken.

Sadness because of Emily's loss. And Tony's loss. And all the Vaughn's; everything they'd lost.

Everything just started tumbling out as she pushed her legs harder and harder. The connection point below her knee ground into the prosthetic leg, aching with each moment of contact with the gravel. After pushing for one more lap with Will sitting out, her leg gave and she tumbled to the ground eating a bit of dirt and feeling the sting of open-air on open wounds mixing with her salty sweat.

Will was over in an instant, thinking he'd run out of gas until he saw her hit the dirt. He slid to the ground next to her as she sobbed, babbling almost incoherently.

"…not fair, it's," gasp, sob, "not supposed to have-" gasp, sob, "stupid dad I don't…" gasp, sob.

He didn't know what to do, so he picked her up onto his lap and held her while she cried into his shirt. 

_ 'This is what she kept joking would never come, despite the warnings from her shrink. The full and ugly meltdown as she dealt with her demons.' _

They sat on the track quietly for around ten minutes, Will humming some out of tune melody as she lay haphazardly across his lap with her face pressed against his sweaty shirt. Mustering whatever energy she didn't really have left, she pushed against him and sat up. Blood was matted and dried on his shirt where her face had been and she gently prodded as the scrape on her forehead and upper cheek below her eye.

"That was quite the tumble. You okay?" Will looked down at her tear and blood-stained face with a gentle reassuring smile.

"Fuck," she ground out, pushing herself up into a stand. Her stump protested instantly and despite trying to push it away she couldn't put pressure on it. "I didn't bring crutches, could you help me to the car?"

"Absolutely."

Once in the car he'd pulled out the makeshift first aid kit from the trunk and put it on her lap. The drive back to the house was silent and the dash clock read 3:04. Using the small visor mirror, Sydney used alcohol swatches to wipe at the dirt and blood around the scrapes. Finding that none needed stitches on her forehead or cheek she turned her attention to her elbow and right forearm. They were much the same – not deep enough to warrant anything other than some antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Her right knee was next and while it looked worse than everything else, it was only because pebbles and dirt were making it so. Once clean, she realized her tumble didn't cost her much other than beauty points.

"I'm sorry, Will."

"Why?"

"I pushed too hard."

"That's what you do, Syd. You push. Most of the time it's not destructive."

A few street lamps went overhead, the light bending through the windows as illuminating the pair in flashes. "I wish he didn't get to me so much, you know?"

"Did you talk to Barnett about it?"

"A bit. Though, in my appointment tomorrow, I'll probably have a bit more to explain than a couple weeks ago."

"You need me to drive you?"

"Nah – I'll be alright."

They pulled up to their street and parked, Will helping her hop up to the house. Once inside she popped off the leg and saw the blood that had soaked into the fabric sock around the connecting rod. She shrugged and tossed it next to the door, grabbing the crutch at the entrance and tucking it under her arm.

"Night, Will."

"Hey," he grabbed her arm and kept her steady for a moment in order to press a kiss to the side of her head. "I love you. Sleep well."

Shutting herself away in her room she sunk to the floor against the door. Stretching her right leg out she wiggled her toes and her brain swore her left leg was doing the same.  _ 'Phantom limb is a bitch.' _ Heaving a sigh she pushed herself up and made her way over to the joined bathroom shedding her work-out clothes in a trail behind her.

The bath filled slowly and she tossed in some Epsom salt for her wounds before making the water almost too hot. Francie joked and called these her lobster baths.  _ 'Water hot enough to cook a lobster – plus you come out bright red.' _

But god did those baths soothe her aching muscles, her stump, and her soul. Everything burned for a few moments as she slid in. Reaching up next to the sink and grabbing the bottle of Advil, she downed a few of the blue pills before sinking down into the water up to her chin. Getting out only when the water cooled too much, she donned a pair of fluffy pajama pants and a camisole before climbing into bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

**...**


	10. The Thursday After

The scrapes were healing nicely and her leg was examined by a doctor at the VA. No permanent damage but she did have to endure a scathing lecture from her doctor to not push too hard with the prosthetic until her leg had more time to adjust. No running for two weeks to let the sores heal; walking only, and if walking distances longer than one-half mile, the use of a crutch was mandatory. If the leg hurt at all, the crutch was mandatory. If the sores didn't clear up in a week or so, no prosthetic at all, and the crutch was definitely mandatory, unless she wanted to hop everywhere.

She wouldn't be able to slide, either. Emily had accompanied her and she was determined to make sure Sydney followed the rules. They laughed over lunch afterward, parting ways in the late afternoon as the doting mother dropped the young woman off. While Emily hadn't noticed the black four-door sedan with the Navy seal parked across the street, Sydney hadn't missed it and couldn't stop her heart from jumping into her throat as she pecked a kiss to Emily's cheek before grabbing her crutch from the backseat and making her way up to the house.

Her father had said the operation by the Seals was going to be on Tuesday, and in the following days, she'd been no more than three inches away from her phone in the event that he called with any news. She hurried up to the door as her leg ached and entered in a rush.

Sitting on the couch in his crisp white uniform, her father seemed to be awkwardly chatting with Will as Francie poured iced tea into cups in the kitchen.

"Hey, Syd, look who dropped by!" Francie cheered, giving the brunette a bright forced smile. "We'll just leave you two alone for a bit. Will and I are off to the store! We're grilling tonight, Mr. Bristow, if you'd like to stay for dinner."

She ignored the scared look on Will's face and the shocked expression that crossed Sydney's before pushing her reluctant boyfriend out of the door their friend had just entered.

Sydney set her purse down on the end table and limped into the kitchen. "I heard you'd taken a tumble a few days ago. Will informed me."

_ 'Thanks, Will.' _

"Yeah. It was my first run with my new leg. I wanted to go further and my leg didn't." Simply put, she thought for a moment, reaching into the freezer and grabbed a large ice gel pack. Moving back to the living room she flopped into the chair and pulled up her pant leg up to remove her prosthetic. Once it was off she wrapped the ice pack around the end using the Velcro to keep it in place before propping it up on the arm of the reclining chair.

She caught the uncomfortable look in her father's eyes as his large hands fidgeted around the manila folder he was clutching.

"I'm sorry, Sydney."

"They found nothing? I was a bust?"

"No. I mean – that's not what…" he trailed off for a moment, unable to meet her eyes. This was a man that could command an entire destroyer with a single word and yet here he was struggling with a simple conversation with his own daughter. "That's not what I meant. I'm sorry about your leg. I would trade places with you in an instant."

Sydney was taken aback at the sudden admission, the honesty in his eyes and sincerity in his voice something she wasn't expecting.  _ 'Maybe my rant last week really got to him.' _

"Uh, thanks, dad. I…I appreciate it."

He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.  _ 'There's Business Dad. He, I'm familiar with.' _

"I'm not supposed to be sharing this with you yet, but it's my call so here I am. Parts of the operation are classified. But I wanted you to know what they found." He offered no other explanation and no other hints, handing the folder over and picking up his white hat from the seat beside him on the couch. "I'll leave you alone if-"

"No, please don't. Stay."

He met her request without words, his hand leaving the hat in place on the cushion and returning to fold with the other in his lap. She opened the documents and began to read the report. By the end of the page, the story really hadn't changed much. At the same time, it was completely changed.

"That's it? That's all they found?"

Jack nodded. "Their packs were empty of anything useful, though they do indicate that the four Marines were kept there together at one point in time over the last two to three months."

"And the hands?" She winced at the included photographs.

"Preliminary analysis shows they do belong to the four missing Marines. They were also…removed while the Marines were alive. They want them for information, Sydney. Their reluctance to give up any information is keeping them alive - if...if they’re still alive. The remains are being sent back to the states for a full analysis."

"And after that?"

"They will be cremated and presented to the families with a Purple Heart, and American and a POW flags."

Sydney winced knowing how crushing that would be for Emily. It didn't mean her son was dead, but the military was essentially treating it as such until something else, like a body, showed up.

"Can I tell his mother?"

"If I say no?"

"If that's an order, it's one I'll follow. It'll be hard, but I'll do it."

Jack thought studiously for a moment. "You're…quite close with his mother?" At her nod he stood, tucking his hat under his arm while straightening and stiffening his back. "The file and information within is yours to share with his family. Please…don't share it with anyone else and inform his family to do so as well until the items are delivered by official guard."

His salute was perfect – it always was. "Stay hopeful. I'll keep an ear to the ground. Any news and you'll be my first call."

After squeezing her shoulder he left her deep in thought. The words on the paper jumped out to her in pieces, parts, and phrases.

_ 'Severed hands discovered in rucksacks.' _

_ 'Hands severed with distal ends of radius and ulna still attached. Assumed weapon: machete.' _

_ 'Approximately two month's desiccation.' _

_ 'No POW presence in Taliban camp. Camp cleared prior to Seal arrival. No bodies of any American, British, or Australian soldiers located. Assumption: moved to secondary camp/taken by another force (possibly hostile).' _

_ 'Canvassing local village for information.' _

She slumped in the chair. The information was worse than she thought. No body meant a lack of closure for Emily and the rest of the Vaughn family. A part of a body is almost worse than finding him whole.  _ 'How the hell can I tell her any of this? It's gonna crush her.' _

Realization dawned on her face and she pulled her phone from her pocket before she cursed at the time. Just after two in the afternoon. The mandatory meeting with Barnett started six minutes ago. Calling the office she relayed that she had been delayed at the VA center in the morning check up on her prosthetic and was on her way if Barnett was able to move their meeting to 2:30 p.m. Affirmative responses had her remove the ice pack and snap her leg back on, hurrying into the bedroom to put on her pressed dress blue uniform and hitting the door in record time.

Pulling a knapsack over her shoulder she grabbed the manila file folder on her way out the door.

**...**

"I'm sorry I'm late." Limping for good effect though her leg wasn't too sore at the moment thanks to the heavy dose of ibuprofen coursing through her, she plopped into the comfortable cloth of the armchair as Barnett removed her glasses and stepped out from behind the cherry wood desk.

"Perfectly understandable, I had a bit of an open schedule this afternoon. You look like you got into a fight with the pavement; everything okay?" The doctor brought her usual pen and yellow note pad, though it was placed on the coffee table between them instead of kept in hand.

Sydney shrugged as she set the bag next to her chair and settled in. "Trying to get my running legs back is harder than I thought it would be. I pushed a little too hard and the damn stump gave out."

Barnett nodded. "It's good that you're getting back into normal routines. Mentally at least, it'll be a big help. Is there anything  _ you _ would like to focus on today?"

With a wry grin, Sydney nodded. "I really wanna talk about my dad, if that’s okay?"

"Color me intrigued."

Sharing real feelings and hardships had gotten easier in these meetings. She'd learned that Barnett wasn't what everyone had joked and warned about – a shrink that just wants you to share but has no idea what you've experienced. Having been in the Army herself, she knew the stresses that soldiers experienced and had undergone specialized training in areas of P.T.S.D. and other mental traumas. She got easier to talk to as the weeks went by and after seven months they were almost on a first-name basis.

Sharing her woes about her father and their numerous (for them) meetings and phone calls over the last week, and the real reason for biting the dust at the track, she appreciated Barnett for not interrupting and letting her vent all at once. But the doctor could tell Sydney was holding back.

"And?"

Sydney looked confused for a moment. "And what? That's it. I just need some guidance in dealing with my father. I don't know how to handle him trying to have more…open conversations with me. I mean…do I share with him that it drives me crazy when he treats me like a faceless soldier instead of like a daughter one moment before flipping it the next? Or is that just who he is and I need to get over myself?"

"No…there's something else. Before we get back to your father, you're leaving something out."

"I don't think I can tell you."

"Why." It was a statement, not a question. And Barnett had removed her friendship voice and turned on her Captain voice.

"It's classified."

"My rank is higher than yours and I'm still active duty. Besides; you can share with me anything about any mission you worked on that would be causing you any stress that could lead to a mental issue or breakdown."

"It's not my mission."

"Then how do you know about it? I can just order you to tell me. Does this have to do with your father?"

Sydney sighed and reached down into her bag to retrieve the file. "My father gave me this information this morning. I'd asked him about anything he could find on those missing Marines from my last operation in Iraq, and he found that a Navy Seals op was scheduled this past Tuesday hitting a Taliban stronghold in northern Baghdad. Rumors had indicated that American POWs may have been held there."

Barnett flipped through the file. "This mission is barely classified. Only on the grounds of not wanting to spill where the operation is headed next. So your dad got you this intel? What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know. I mean…I know what I want to do with it," she trailed off.

"As excited as I was to finally delve into your issues with your dad," Barnett slid back into her comfortable, less authoritative, repose and closed the file handing it back. "This is your stumbling block."

Sydney frowned. "My  _ stumbling block _ ?"

"Your survivor's guilt."

Nodding in agreement they sat quietly for a few moments, the psychiatrist letting the young woman gather her thoughts. "I want to tell Emily."

"I think that's a good idea."

"I don't know how. It's going to crush her."

Barnett nodded, "yeah. It's going to be hard. But remember back to when you were standing on her front porch about to not only meet her for the first time but tell her that her one and only son was missing. This can't be harder than that."

_ 'She has a point,' _ Sydney thought as her teeth nervously chewed at the inside of her lip. "I can't get over it."

The doctor didn't say anything. Typically, this is where Sydney would stop dealing with the issue. She'd give her a little nibble, Barnett would give some advice, and Sydney would just smile and say something like,  _ 'thanks, that helps. I'll work on it,' _ or another such vague line. And she wouldn't push – if the Marine wasn't ready to delve into that shit yet, she'd get there soon enough.  _ 'Today,'  _ thought Barnett,  _ 'is the day, young lady. Let's work through some shit.' _

"I just…it's not fair. I have one person left in my family and I need a therapist to tell me how to handle conversations with him. Vaughn had – has this amazing family." Sydney paused, honestly hoping Barnett would interrupt her with a piece of advice so she could take it and move on. The shrink stayed silent.

"I'm just…sitting here having lunches and shit with his mom. She should be doing that with him. She should have him back, not me."

"You think you don't deserve to be with his family while he's off being tortured somewhere if he isn't already dead. You think you should be in his place, and he in yours, and that you deserve to be back in the desert because his family is hurt that he's gone. Am I close?"  _ 'Blunt and hard, but she's gotta deal with this at some point. Hopefully, this is the prod off of the cliff that she needs.' _

With her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes, Sydney looked down at her lap feeling embarrassment and shame seep into her soul. She sobbed once before the waterworks really started, and try as she might, she couldn't stop the torrent of emotion from ripping out of her. Barnett set her pad and pen down, moving to sit beside the troubled Marine and pulling her to her side with a strong arm. Whole minutes went by until the sobs gave way to sniffles and Sydney reached for the tissues on the table.

"I didn't want to get mean, Sydney, but you just don't want to deal with this part of this equation. And you can't solve it by ignoring it." The woman's voice was soothing and quiet and after rubbing a few circles across her back, Barnett rose and retook her seat across the table. "This is something we need to tackle. Before your father - before anything else related to your father; this needs to get addressed. Because you're not whole. Even with all the progress you've made with me in seven months sitting in this room and bearing what you think is the entirety of your soul, you've kept this little secret locked up. Sure I've been fucking with the lock, but I never had the key."

"Why was today different?" Sydney mumbled the words with a strained voice.

"Because of this," Barnett lifted the manila folder in line with her eyes and stretched out, handing it back. "Because this is real. He might not be alive any longer. Before he was just her missing son; there wasn't any evidence yet of anything tangible. That's not the case any longer, is it?"

Sydney nodded as another tear dripped down her cheek. "I just…I just wish I could give Emily her son back."

Barnett smiled. "I know. And having to tell her the contents of this folder isn't giving Emily her son back. It's actually worse, and both you and I know that while Emily won't really understand that part. I assume they're going to have an honor guard go to the house and present the Purple Heart and P.O.W. flag?"

A confirming, quiet not.

"Do you know when?"

"No. My dad was going to find out and tell me." A frown marred her forehead as a thought entered her mind. "Could…could you do me a favor?"

"I can try; honestly you're the first patient to ever ask me for a favor."

"Can I get onto that honor guard?"

Barnett smiled.  _ 'Bam. That's the breakthrough. If she can be part of presenting with the Honor Guard for Emily…she'll be able to get some closure.' _ "Let me see what I can pull. Can I call you tomorrow?"

A genuine smile passed her lips. "Yeah. Thanks, Dr. Barnett."

"Alright. Head out, Sydney. Good stuff today, okay? I mean it. We'll tackle the stuff with your dad soon, I promise. You've still got three months with me. We have time."

Sticking the folder back into her bag she stood with a wince as her leg protested after being stationary for so long. Straightening her back and regretting that she'd left the crutch in the car she made her way out into the warm sun. Grabbing her phone and dialing she limped over to the red mustang and slipped inside.

"Hey, it's Sydney. Can you – can you meet me for lunch?" Pause. "Sure, sounds good. See you in ten."

"Permission to join your table, lieutenant?" Sydney looked up from her phone with a laugh as Uncle Tony stood with a half-decent salute.

"Granted," she rose and was pulled into a warm hug. As she pulled back Tony cupped her cheek with his hand and ran his thumb over the scab and scratched skin. "It's getting better." He took the seat across from her at the outdoor cafe, the round metal table and umbrella above their heads casting strange shadows across their laps and onto the sidewalk.

"What's with the digs?"

"I just got out of therapy – have to dress up for it. Listen…I – I've got some news."  _ 'Fuck it – diving right in.' _

The jovial look on Tony's face dropped instantly and he sat up reaching his hand out to grasp her wrist. "Seriously?"

She patted the back of his hand and grabbed the manila folder out of her backpack. She'd removed the photos and the only thing left was the typed report. Silently she handed it over and watched as his hopeful gaze went away and tears welled in his eyes. She reached a hand across the table and let it rest against his arm.

"I'm sorry, Tony."

They sat in silence; Sydney waved off of the approaching waitress and kept her hand on his arm. The tall, strong man sniffled for a moment and wiped at his wet cheeks. "This is it?"

"That's it. I'm still waiting to hear from my father about the canvass. They may have talked to some locals that gave something up – a location…anything. But – I need your help because telling you was the easiest part of my day."

"We can't take this to Emily." His green eyes filled with horror that she was even suggesting that they take this to Michael's mother.

"If we don't, she'll find out next week when the Honor Guard shows up at her home with a box of ashes, a Purple Heart, and a POW flag."

"Fuck," he ground as he ran his eyes over the folder, still open on the table.

"I've requested to be on the Honor Guard. It shouldn't come from a stranger. But I don't want that to be how she gets this information. I just don't know what to do next." She paused as the familiar tightening of emotion began to squeeze at her throat causing her voice to waver. "I promised her that if I ever got any news, she would be my first call. I already fucked that up. I need you to help me with this, and I'm sorry for asking. I…I should be strong enough to do this on my own, but I'm not."

Tony merely nodded and closed the folder, his hand dwarfing the small water glass as he took a swig and then crunched on a defenseless ice cube. "Well, let's go then. You drive," he grumbled, standing and handing her back the folder. He left his hand outstretched to help her up, pulling her against his chest in another bear hug.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Bristow. It took guts to even call me. I know that and you know that." The words were harshly whispered into her ear and when they broke apart she saw the sincerity on his face. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, her index finger brushing it away as they stepped apart and headed for the car.

The ride was silent. The only sound was the roar of the engine as Sydney hit the gas to get onto the freeway. Twenty minutes later they were pulling onto the once unfamiliar street and she began to have an unmistakable moment of déjà vu. This wasn't the first time she'd driven this road this week, let alone at all, but the dropping of her stomach as the home came into view made her grip the steering wheel until her knuckles were white, catapulting her straight back to last year when Will was driving her to meet Emily Vaughn.

Parking and stepping out, the cool air conditioning of the vehicle made the Californian sun feel hot on her face, despite the fact that it was the end of September.

She and Tony both exhaled at the same time in preparation before moving up the walk.

_ 'Let's do this, _ ' they thought in unison.

**...**


	11. Holiday Healings

"Sydney dear, could you please grab the butter from the fridge?" Emily was what seemed to be elbow deep in mashed potatoes and Sydney set down the rolling pin to dust her flour-covered hands on the apron before fetching the chilled butter and passing it over.

The Thanksgiving feast was almost done being prepared, which was a good thing as many of the guests had already arrived and were loitering on the patio and in the living room. Tony was cutting the turkey on the island across from Sydney as she rolled and placed the croissants into the hot oven.

Children were bounding around the yard, but everyone came together as the Thanksgiving dinner was laid out. Tony clinked the glass and stood, several of the men at the table booing.

"Quiet ya hooligans. Thanks so much for those that could make it to the Vaughn Thanksgiving Stuff-Your-Face. While not everyone is here, we're thankful to those we have with us." He turned his attention and lifted his drink to the new flagpole bearing the POW flag hanging in the garden of the backyard. "Come home soon, Mike."

Sydney sought Emily's hand under the table and gave it a squeeze as folks cheered, sent up a Marine hoo-rah, and clinked glasses before then digging into the meal. The holiday flew by, Sydney feeling comfortable unlike the first Vaughn family gathering. Several of the out-of-state cousins were there for the first time, bringing along with them their children, and it was nice to have kids running about playing games and laughing.

"Sih-nee, tuck me in?" The three-year-old Micah had tugged at the edge of her shorts, and she grinned down at him. His green eyes were drooping and his sandy blonde hair was disheveled, and he lifted his arms up for her to carry him.

"Sure, big guy." Excusing herself from Tony and the other Marines as Tony was trying to egg her on to tell her ‘helicopter crash’, she hefted up the toddler and made her way into the house. "Do you want a story?"

"Yah!" He cheered and some of the other kids crowded into the large guest bedroom, piling onto the bed. Tucking them all in together she began to weave a tale of a brave knight that set out to rescue a princess from a tall tower in a dungeon far away. But when the prince arrived at the tower, the princess had already slain the dragon and taken over the tower. The knight was still welcomed with open arms as they fell in love and got married and lived happily ever after.

Most of the children were asleep save for the eight-year-old sitting in the chair on the other side of the room. He hadn't wanted to be tucked in with four other, smaller children, and she held out her hand to him after turning off the light and led him from the room.

"You've been quiet, James. What's up?"

"Could you tuck me in too? In my own room?"

"Sure. Want a story?"

He scoffed and rolled his brown eyes. "Only if it's a  _ real  _ story."

She laughed as he pushed open the other spare room door, the one he and his parents were sharing. He climbed into the little cot at the edge of the room and she pulled the blankets up to his chin. "What would you classify as a real story?"

"Could you tell me a war story? A  _ real _ war story?"

Sydney stopped for a moment, looking at him with curious eyes. "Why do you want to hear a 'real war story'?"

"My dad doesn't talk about my uncle's and how they were in a war. But…you've been in a war – you could tell me one of your stories. Like what you do with Uncle Tony and my dad and Uncle Dave?"

She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. "You might not be old enough for war stories, Jamie."

He groaned and tossed his hands up. "I'm not a baby anymore, Sydney. I never get to do older kid stuff. I have to hang out with babies all day and it's stupid!"

She nodded, thinking of something quickly. "Okay. Here's the deal. I tell you a tiny war story and you don't tell your mom and dad. You tell him I told you tales about dragons and spaceships and far away future cities. Deal?"

He perked up and scooted back into the bed with an excited, "deal!"

She thought for a moment before beginning. "Once upon a time-” she started, James rolling his eyes with a groan. “Do you want a story or not?” He settled back down with a look on his face that screamed ‘swindled’. “On what felt like the hottest day in the sandiest desert, a group of Marines went out to fight. That was the day that I met your Uncle Michael." James' eyes went wide as he settled in. 

"They went out in the big trucks ready to go save the day, but there were so many bad guys that they couldn't get through the bad guy town. So they fought. These guys were tough, you know? Big, tough Marines."

"Hoo-rah," he whispered and she smiled.

"When things got really bad, they called me in. Because I was the toughest Marine they had."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. I wasn't the strongest or the fastest, but when I got called in it was only during the hardest fights."

"Wow."

"There were loud bangs and sand was flying everywhere. And there we were – your Uncle Michael and me. He protected us all while I put band-aids on everyone that got a scratch. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Our Marines were so good at fighting, that hardly any of them got scratches," she lied.

"And then helicopters showed up and we started giving people rides to get out of the city filled with bad guys. Your Uncle Michael and I were keeping everyone safe while they got into the helicopter, and then,  **BOOM** . The sand sunk underneath me."

"Oh no," his tiny voice whispered as he partially hid his face under the edge of the blanket. "Is that how you got your leg hurt?"

"Yep. But you know who saved me?"

"My Uncle Michael?"

"Yep. He carried me to the helicopter and made sure we were all safe."

"When is he coming home?"

She sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, big guy. You know what I do know?"

"What?"

"He’s a hero. He'll come home. I believe it right here," she pointed to her heart.

James nodded as his eyes drooped. "Could you tell me a different story?"

"Maybe next time, buddy. You need to get to sleep. Did you brush your teeth? Wash your face?"

He grumbled, "yes," before she tucked the blanket around his legs. "Good night, Sydney."

"Good night, sleep tight. We'll see you in the morning light."

Moving out of the room she pulled the door behind her leaving a small sliver open. "Band-aids, huh?" She whipped around with a gasp seeing Tony against the wall.

"Damnit, Tony. Gonna give me a heart attack."

"I appreciate what you told him. It was a good story." He left off knowing they both knew it was about a fabricated as anything else she'd told that night. "So you're the toughest Marine, eh?"

She laughed as they walked down the stairs rejoining the family for the rest of the evening.

**…**

"Dig the hole approximately two to three inches deeper and wider than the roots of the tree," Sydney read from her phone as she and Tony stood in the backyard, the full-grown peach tree over by the back gate where it had been dropped off that morning. The sun was high and though a little cooler than usual as it was the beginning of December, only around 65 degrees, the weather was clear and nice. Perfect for helping Emily finally plant her peach tree.

"Well, how the hell deep and wide are the roots of the tree?" Grousing, he stood with dirt smudged across his forehead as he watched the young woman flash him a wry grin.

"There's only one way to find out." She strode purposefully to the tree across the yard, squatting next to the large plastic pot it had been growing in for the last two years back at the nursery. "What do you think; can we just measure the pot and go from there?"

"What does your phone almanac say, Old MacDonald?" He jested, making fun of her for looking up how to plant a tree.

She scanned the web page, scrolling with her thumb, before stopping and reading. "For container-grown trees, remove the plant from its pot and remove any circling roots by laying the root ball on its side and using shears to cut through the roots."

"Before we do any of that, we should get it over by the hole."

If anyone was watching the next ten minutes, they would have had a front-row seat to a hilarious show filled with slips, trips, tree-dropping, and a lot of cursing. Emily watched them get hilariously to the center of the yard before poking her head out. "Why don't you two use the rolling cart?" Pointing to the small, plastic, flat cart with wide rubber wheels on the patio, she slipped on her work gloves and made her way to the front yard to trim the bushes and water the flowers.

"I'm gonna need my other leg for this." Sydney stood and grabbed at her knee, the regular leg with the tennis shoe not offering her as much as she had hoped during this endeavor. She jogged into and through the house before grabbing it from the back seat of the mustang. The running leg would give her more purchase, so she switched them out as Emily filled the water jug and moved over the flower beds.

"Thanks for helping today, Sydney."

Giving her an answering kiss on the cheek she made her way back to Tony's side. He'd grabbed the cart and was attempting to lift the tree over the plastic on his own. "Easy macho man, don't put your back out."

Grunting, groaning, and ever more cursing, the two got the tree onto the cart and then over by the hole. Cutting away the plastic and following the rules on the website, they managed to get the hole the right size before Tony laughed to himself. "I have an idea. Give me your leg."

"What?"

"Trust me."

She plopped down on the ground, more than willing to participate in a decent practical joke. He stuck the end of it into the loose dirt until it stood upright as if the leg itself was growing out of the dirt. He sat her smiling beside it and snapped a picture with his phone, texting it to Emily in the front yard with a message that read, "here's hoping that leg crop comes in nice next year."

They swore they heard her laugh from the front yard, though the returning text just said a simple 'ha'. Dipping the leg in a bucket of water to rid it of the dirt they set out to finally get the tree into the hole – arguably the hardest part.

Emily tucked the phone back into her pocket with a chuckle as she finished watering the flowers by the mailbox and moving over by the bed around the flagpole, the American flag hanging low with little to no breeze to keep it out. Finishing up she moved back to the rear of the house, content to sit and laugh at the two as they tried to get the tree planted. The first try was a failure as they got the tree into the hole, but on top of Tony's leg, so they had to pull it back out to free him before trying again. That attempt led to them finishing triumphantly and then drooping their heads and shoulders as Emily yelled, "it's crooked as hell," from the patio. Sure enough, it was tilting about twenty degrees. One last attempt got it into the hole; straight and without crushing either worker.

The next argument came by way of the soil that needed to be put in around the roots. "Look, I did most of the work.  _ You _ shovel the dirt in."

It ended when Sydney feigned a limp, "come on, Tony, I've but one leg. Get to it, Marine." Tossing him the shovel she turned and strode to the patio, a waiting glass of water placed in her hand by the laughing mother-figure.

Ten minutes later, everything was set. Tony kissed both their heads as he left to,  _ 'peel this shirt off and take a long shower _ ', Sydney heading out shortly after making sure they were still on for dinner later that evening. Emily stood and took the glasses and pitcher back into the kitchen.

Remembering that she'd left the hose and water canister out in the front she returned to get everything put away. The sun was still high, though it was tilting toward the horizon, and she decided to pour the rest of the water in the canister on the flowers by the porch. The slight rumble of an engine and a squeeze of brakes made her turn to the street as she spotted a black sedan, windows tinted, and bearing the USMC emblem on the front passenger door.

The water canister fell from her hands with a clunk and a slosh onto the grass, tears springing to her eyes as her throat tightened. The front passenger door opened and a young man stepped out, his tan shirt and blue pants neat and clean. Emily sobbed as a hand flew up to her mouth and her gaze quickly swung to the grass at her feet where the water can lay.

She lifted her eyes once as the younger Marine opened the back passenger door and a full dress blues Captain stepped into the sun. The white hat hid his face in shadow as he adjusted his suit before turning to reach back into the car.

Her knees gave out and she sunk into the wet grass, sobs wracking her slim shoulders as she waited for the Captain to bring her a folded American flag and a letter explaining how valuable her sacrifice was to her country. She'd read it before. Now she'd have two.

The car door closed and padded steps from shiny black shoes moved across the grass slowly. She heard the sound of something settling down ahead of her into the soft greenery but she didn't look up. This couldn't happen. She didn't want to look into the sympathetic eyes of another high-ranking officer and have them utter the words,  _ 'I'm sorry, ma'am.' _

A hand reached out and cupped the back of her head pulling her into a hug against his warm chest, the medals on his left breast cool to the touch. A whispered voice broke through her sobs, "I'm sorry."

Emily fell against the shoulder, simply allowing herself to be held and comforted. She wished it was in more familiar arms, however. If only Tony and Sydney were still fighting over the damn tree in the yard – they would be there with her right now. They could hold her and comfort her.

The voice broke her resolve once more, "I'm so, so sorry, mom."

_ 'Ma'am. I hate when they call you ma'am.' _

The Marine pulled away and his left hand cupped her cheek, thumb wiping at her tears. Her eyes opened and she saw that he'd removed the crisp white hat. Looking past the shoulders she noticed that the ominous black sedan was gone. It wasn't until her eyes met his, light blue gazing into wet, tear-filled bright green eyes that she realized that the captain sitting in front of her was saying 'mom', not 'ma'am'.

She gasped and fell back against her heels, her hands balling together over her folded knees. It was him. Her son was kneeling on the grass in front of her. His uniform was immaculate and clean, save for the grass stains settling into the dress pants. His hair was short and buzzed, also perfect. The eyes gave it away, so much like his father's and his uncles'. She reached out an unsteady hand, the fingers shaking uncontrollably, and touched his face. He was real – he was in front of her.

"You – you made it home. You came home," she sobbed, throwing herself against him again and flinging her arms around his back to clutch at the blue coat.

"Of course, mom," was his only response as he smiled and held her against him. He'd dreamed of this moment for months and was fairly sure she had as well. They sat for long moments in the wet grass merely holding each other, the world around them forgotten. Michael pulled away first, a wince marring his handsome face.

"Oh, honey. Are you hurt?"

He laughed and shook his head, pushing up into a stand as he grabbed the cane he'd dropped into the grass before kneeling to hold his crying mother. "It's almost healed, just stiff after a long flight and car ride. C'mon," he tucked the cane under his arm and hoisted his bag over his shoulder before reaching his left hand out to help her off of the ground.

He led her in a blur into the home and set her down onto the armchair in the living room, placed just where he remembered. Pulling up a footstool he sat down in front of her and held her hand in his on her lap. She took a moment to look him up and down once more, settling on his right arm where the sleeve was clipped up against the crook of the elbow in an effort to hide the portion of the missing limb. She sobbed and lifted his arm into her hands to place a kiss on the folded piece of cloth at the end.

He pulled away for a moment and reached into his overcoat, Emily noticing for the first time the awkward lump against his right breast. Pulling a crumpled series of letters bound together with a piece of tattered string, tears filled her eyes as she recognized every letter she'd sent him after Sydney had first visited. The young woman had said, "he may be trying to make his way home to you right now", and the mother took that sentiment quite literally.

"You got them...my - my letters."

"Better late than never, right? Mom, listen. I'm sorry I couldn't write back; I'm so sorry. I don't know what they told you – if they said I was dead. I'm so sorry. I – I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't tell you what had happened and why I've been gone for so long," he started in a rush, Emily smiling as tears trailed down her cheeks.

"Oh, Michael, I know what happened. I knew you were missing, and I knew how heroic and brave you were before you went missing. You may have been taken from me for a short time, but you sent me an angel before you left."

Confusion flickered across his face. "An angel? How? How do you know what happened, mom?"

She rose and moved to the mantle to grab a photograph in a thin silver frame. He rose and followed a few feet, taking the photo into his hands. He smiled wistfully at Uncle Tony, dressed in a pressed suit and his mother in a long gown. The third person, however, he did not know. Familiar yet not, he couldn't place who it was. She was standing in a lovely dark green dress, brown curled hair up in a half ponytail. The dimples on her cheeks were standing at attention as she smiled brightly for whoever was taking the picture. He couldn't get her out of his head – he knew her from somewhere.

"I - maybe...but I don’t know how." He joked, though his mom just rolled her eyes.

"Look harder – look lower."

He brought the picture closer, looking lower  _ 'whatever what means.'  _ A faint glint of metal shone on the young woman's left leg. It was clearly a prosthetic, and it was apparent that she'd chosen the gown and the way it hung because of her leg. His gaze moved back up to her face, and though he knew it was someone he should know, he wasn't able to recall a name or place.

"She came to see me, just over one year ago. The last combat she ever saw in Iraq was the last moment you were seen by anyone." Emily spoke softly – reverently – taking the picture from his hand and smiling lovingly at it before setting it back on the mantle. Meeting her son's eyes she saw confusion, sadness, and incredulity at the slow and deliberate words she was speaking.

"The news that she shared with me made me so proud of you the same time they broke my heart. You chose her over yourself; you gave her the second chance." Pausing for a moment she'd noticed that his gaze had reverted back to the photograph as he lifted it up and traced his thumb over the metallic glint of the prosthetic in the photo.

"You said,  _ 'you've got my seat' _ , and sent her back. It saved her life and – and she didn't go a day in this city without finding me to tell me what you had done. As sad as I was, I loved you for what you did. It's who you are, Michael."

"The doc – her leg. God…I remember. I did – I did give her my seat."

"If you hadn't, I would have gotten a letter from the government and a half-assed attempt to comfort me. No; you gave me a living, breathing, wonderful person to share my hard times with. And she's been there _every_ **_single_** _time_ I've needed her."

They stayed quiet for a few moments. "I don't know anything about her," he mused as he leaned on the cane after putting the photo back onto the mantle.

"Oh, you'll get to know her. She's been waiting for you to come home just as long as the rest of your family. She's been at every family gathering. And every Thursday she and I get dressed up fancy and go to an expensive restaurant simply because  _ 'we deserve it' _ she says. Her presence kept me sane while you were gone, Michael. She's not going anywhere."

"Today is Thursday, mom."

The realization made her gasp and look at her watch. "Oh, she'll be here in an hour. Michael, we should all go. All of us – we'll call Tony. Oh god – how…how have we not called Tony?!"

Michael smiled as she fretted. "You've always been able to think clearly while simultaneously worrying about a dozen things, mom. I'll go get dressed; dinner sounds great, I'll buy. I'll also call Tony while you get ready."

**…**

The front door flew open fifteen minutes later as his uncle, dressed in a haphazardly tossed together button-up shirt and wrinkled dress pants, barged into the home out of breath. Michael relied heavily on his cane, his hip much sorer than he'd expected, but he was on his feet before his uncle had him in a bear hug. They both shed tears into each other's shoulders, pulling apart as Tony held his face in his hands with a relieved exhale.

"God I'm glad you're home, son."

They talked as Emily got ready upstairs, Michael turning the conversation to the young woman due in a few minutes. Surprisingly, he was nervous and couldn't really figure out why. He'd never really known her, merely names that had passed like a breeze in the desert. Hell, he half expected her to be exactly as he remembered – a soldier in combat gear showing up for a fancy dinner. "Can you tell me about her, Tone?"

"Sydney is…unique. I mean, in all my years of service, your dad's, Dave's, hell – even yours – I've never known anyone in any squad to do more than send a letter. This woman found us. Not only found us but found us and told us everything she knew and then stuck around. Though, to be fair, with her having no real family of her own, she was really easy to adopt. She's funny, always willing to joke or prank, and she just has a decent head on her shoulders. It's weird…we like her better than we ever liked you," Tony jested as Michael punched him in the shoulder.

The familiar purr of the mustang's engine had Emily squeal with excitement, nearly tripping down the stairs on the long dress, her heels thankfully in her hands. The moments went by slow, almost like a long shutter. The car turned off; the car door opened and then closed. Footsteps made their way down the pavement, and then silence. Nothing. Tony peeked out the window seeing her step into the grass, the sparkling, bedazzled, completely metal prosthetic glinting in the fading sunlight, and she was picking up the abandoned watering can and setting it on the porch.  _ 'Jesus, Syd – too thoughtful sometimes. Get the fuck in here.' _

The jingle of keys was a prelude to the opening of the door, and the young woman stepped in. Her heel made a tap on the wood floor of the foyer, the black dress clinging to her curves as her curled hair was pulled into a loose and messy bun at the top of her head. She turned to close the door behind her while speaking. "Emily?" She hollered, "you left the can out. I put it away for-"

Turning into the living room she was stopped in her tracks and her keys and purse fell to the floor in a clatter. Her heart jumped into her throat and tears sprang to her eyes. "You…you're," she faltered, her hand reaching back to the door in an effort to steady her suddenly shaky legs.

"Oh, Sydney, isn't it wonderful?" Emily couldn't contain her excitement as she rushed forward and pulled the girl’s hand between hers. "He came home his afternoon – just after you and Tony left. I…I added to our dinner plans."

She'd had this dream before – too many times. Vaughn comes home, Emily is delighted, they do family dinners, brunches, and he's like the brother she never had. Then she wakes up, hopefully. Sometimes it turns into a nightmare as insurgents come from every corner of the restaurant, their guns blazing as the Vaughn family is shot before her unscathed body. She weeps over their corpses before waking with a gasp, sweat clinging to her skin.

But this was real. She looked down to see Emily's fingers twined with her own, grounding her in reality. Michael stepped forward and pulled her shocked frame against his chest.

"You saved my mother so much grief, Lieutenant. There's no way I can thank you for what you've done for her while I've been gone." His voice was an emotional whisper in her ear as he embraced her, his hugs reminding her of Tony's.  _ 'Must be a Vaughn thing.' _

Slowly, as if they were filled with lead, her arms rose to pull him in close.  _ 'Barnett's gonna get a  _ **_kick_ ** _ out of this. How's  _ **_this_ ** _ for closure?' _

"I owed you," she smiled into his shoulder, speaking through a sob as her tears leaked into the soft cotton of his dress shirt.

They pulled away from one another after a long moment, Michael reaching up with his left hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I'm glad you're okay, doc. The last time I saw you it was pretty brutal."

She laughed and shook her head, accepting the tissue Tony was holding out for both her and Emily. "You're tellin' me," she joked and took in a deep breath before letting it out, the growling of her stomach making everyone laugh.

"To dinner," Tony announced, and the four of them left the warm house with wide smiles.

**…**

The four laughed as they sat in a secluded part of the restaurant. The food was amazing and they were now sharing a bottle of wine, though Tony had stopped at one glass as he was driving.

"You've gotta tell me," Michael started, sipping the wine and setting it down before turning to face Sydney. "The bedazzled leg – what's up with that?"

Emily laughed as Sydney rolled her eyes. "Emily got so fed up with me wearing slacks to our Thursday night dinners. She even bought me this dress, hounding me that I wasn't wearing it. I finally explained that I was tired of the looks and the sideways glances at the prosthetic, so I just decided to hide it when we were out. I've kind of gotten over the embarrassment, but it took a while." He nodded in complete understanding.

"You know  _ me _ , Michael; I wasn't having any of that. So one night I had her come over under the guise of being pretty down. She showed up that evening with a stud-filled movie, quart of ice cream, and a bottle of wine, remember?"

Sydney nodded wistfully as she sipped at the Moscato. "That's right. I said,  _ 'whatever you're feeling right now, we have three ways to drown it: alcohol, ice cream, or sexy guys' _ . We ended up doing all three and I ended up staying in the guest room. The sneaky woman had faked it, and during the night got out her trusty hot glue gun and a bucket of rhinestones."

"The whole thing took me four hours, but when she woke up the next day, I introduced her to her 'fancy leg'."

The group laughed as the waiter brought the check, Michael grabbing it and waving everyone off. "Do you know how many dinners I owe you guys? A literal year's worth," he reminded as he slipped his card into the book and set it on the edge of the table. He winced as he leaned wrong on his hip in the seat, Tony and Emily chatting but the moment not escaping Sydney's medic eyes.

"Hip or leg?"

He looked surprised at her as she sent him a warm smile, a dimple popping out on her left cheek. "Leg and hip; busted around the socket."

She winced and sucked in air through her teeth. "Ouch. That's a rough one."

"Yeah, but, it's on the mend. The flight and the car ride didn't help, so it's just stiff."

"Did they give you exercises to do?"

"No, said I'm supposed to do everything within the 'guidelines of physical therapy'." He said using his left hand to imitate rabbit ears, his right arm rising as well as he rolled his eyes embarrassed for a moment that he'd forgotten his right hand wasn't really there.

She reached out and, seeing his discomfort, set her hand against his wrist. "Phantom limb is a bitch. It gets easier…but it's still a bitch. I'll show you some exercises for your leg; it should help speed up the physical therapy and get you outta there sooner."

He nodded and thanked her, realizing that he was finally with someone that understood a lot of his problems. The four captured Marines had been separated early after their rescue and everyone else had just treated him either like a patient with a missing limb similar to a thousand they'd already seen, or someone that was deserving of their pity. But he didn't get that vibe from Sydney.

_ 'I mean, why would I? She's gone through the same shit. Okay…I hope not the  _ **_same_ ** _ shit, but still.' _

"Thanks. It's nice to finally be able to do that in front of someone without feeling like an asshole."  _ 'Why am I just opening up to her?! I don't even talk this much in therapy!' _

After paying and heading out to the vehicle, the drive back to Emily's house was quiet but content. A smile was still plastered on the mother's face as she stole glances at her son seated beside her. Sydney and Tony argued a bit about the station to turn on and since no compromise could be found they settled for silence.

Michael grinned at their antics realizing that Sydney really had become just another family member. Tony reached out and flipped on the radio, soft classical flowing from the speakers. "You didn't win, okay? I wanted to listen to some…whoever this is."

"Bach," Michael and Sydney said simultaneously, Syd laughing and reaching her hand back for a fist bump. He obliged and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Good; great. Teaming up." Dropping the lot of them off, Tony pulled Michael nearly through the window into a big hug as he left for the night saying he'd be back by tomorrow if they could spend some more time together.

Sydney excused herself as well as she made her way over to the Mustang. "Why couldn't we have driven in  _ this _ tonight?" Michael whistled as he limped over, the cane supporting most of his weight. She laughed and tossed her purse in on the passenger seat.

"Because Tony would have had to sit on the roof."

"Deal."

They shared a laugh, Emily pressing a kiss to Sydney's cheek and heading inside to get ready for bed.

"Take me on a ride some time. It's always been one of my favorite cars." Michael stood next to her for a few silent moments.

"Hey," she started, looking down and not really sure how to continue. "I'm glad you're home. I know it's weird, I mean – you don't really know me at all but for over a year I've been…waiting for you to walk through that front door. I mean, every single day I hoped you'd come and make her the happiest woman in the world, you know? I'm just glad it finally happened."

Her brown eyes met his green and they shared a quiet smile. "You won't be able to play that card for too long, doc." Michael pressed a kiss to her cheek before hobbling up the walkway. "How many photo albums has my mom shared with you?" he asked.

"Oh, all of them." She laughed.

"I'll get to know you. Drive safe, Lieutenant."

"Have a good night, Captain." Offering a small salute she stepped into the car, firing it up, and it purred down the street into the night.

Michael smiled as he watched the taillights turn and return the street to dark save for the single light at the crosswalk. "God it's good to be home."

…


	12. Normalcy

"Relax. I'm not going to push if you're tense." Sydney leaned into Michael's leg, folded at the knee and pressed against her chest and stomach. Vaughn was lying flat on the floor with a look of pain marring his handsome features. "There you go," she muttered, her left hand pushing into the top of his leg at the hip feeling the top of the femur as it moved the leg up.

She released it slowly, letting the muscles relax as she helped him lower his leg and unbend it at the knee, guiding it until it was flat in line with the other.

"Jesus that sucks." He groaned as he held up his left hand in a call for help to sit up. She laughed and grabbed it, pulling him upright.

"Sorry – but until they get you a physical therapist lined up, this is your best bet for not backsliding and being worse off." Her leg throbbed a little, kneeling not one of her preferred positions with her prosthetic. Flexing out her leg they sat on the floor of the living room together as Emily made breakfast.

It had been a week and a half since Michael's return and things had been relatively smooth. A slight hiccup popped up with Emily's cousin passing away in Colorado a couple of days ago. The cousin wasn't really connected much to the family and had lived an almost hermit-like existence in a giant house in the mountains. But Emily had been fond of her when they were children and felt an obligation to go to the funeral. Her plane left that evening, and she'd be gone for about four days.

Sydney, true to her word, had been over each morning to help Vaughn with leg exercises, especially after he'd talked of trouble with the VA getting a physical therapist lined up to work with him. The waiting list was two weeks out and Sydney scoffed.  _ 'I've got you. I'll work with you until they find someone. I may not be a licensed physical therapist, but I know enough about things you can do so the joints stay limber and so bone growth stays consistent with muscle growth. Medic School 101.' _

Michael chided her a bit as she rubbed her knee after getting up. "If it hurts you, let's do it a different way." She ignored him with a disarming smile, grabbing them each an ice pack from the freezer, him wrapping it around his waist and her popping the leg off and wrapping it around the stump.

Breakfast was sausage, bacon, and pancakes and it was devoured. Michael finished up and hobbled to the stairs intent on taking a shower and changing out of work-out clothes. It was strange working up a sweat while lying on your back only moving one limb, but whatever exercises she had him doing put a painful strain to everything making him work just a little harder to lift his leg or turn it this way or that.

"Sydney, I need you to do me a favor," Emily started as Sydney cleared the table and started the dishes, waving the older woman off when she offered to help. "I didn't want to ask while Michael was here. He's – he's been having night terrors; waking up terrified and disoriented."

Sydney nodded with her hands dipping into the warm water and suds. "That's not uncommon with soldiers dealing with trauma. I've had a few since I got back. I had a  _ ton _ of them after my second tour; the helicopter crash kind of messed me up for a bit."

Emily nodded and sipped from her coffee. "Could you…stay here with him while I'm away?"

The young woman shot her a wry smile, "he's going to hate a babysitter - you know that."

"No…I know. But – but I don't want him to be alone at night."

Sydney thought for a few getting her schedule together in her head. "Well, tonight is the Christmas party at Francie's restaurant. It'll go late into the night and since he's still on Iraq time it would be pretty perfect as a distraction. It's walking distance from our apartment, so even if there's drinking we'll be able to walk back to our place. He wouldn't be alone tonight," she thought aloud. The water of the shower kicked on upstairs indicating that their 'secret plans' wouldn't be interrupted for a few more minutes.

"Tomorrow night I have dinner with Weiss, he could come with me for that."

"Are you and Eric a thing?" Emily interrupted, Sydney nearly dropping a glass into the sink as she shook her head and laughed.

"Hell no. It'd be like dating my brother. But, we're good friends and he just moved back to L.A. a week ago, so we've been hanging out. You've been telling me to get more friends than you and Tony," she joked, grabbing a pan and dunking it into the warm, soapy water.

Emily rolled her eyes and drank the rest of her coffee. "Thanks for thinking about it. I just don't feel comfortable leaving him alone right now."

"I promise I'll look after him while you're gone." She knew these were the words Emily needed to hear, so she said them. "Besides – I'll bust his ass with more leg exercises. He'll hate it; it'll be perfect."

They shared a laugh as the shower upstairs turned off, Sydney finishing up the dishes and grabbing her stuff. "I'll see you in a couple of hours to take you to the airport, okay? I'm gonna go get in a run with Will."

"Don't push it. I saw you ice your knee today," pointing a motherly finger in her direction.

For the next two hours, Emily packed her bag as Michael slept on the couch, waking only when Sydney walked in to take his mom to the airport. She had a slight limp that he noticed, but pushed it back when she smiled at him.

"Can I come?" he asked quietly, Sydney tossing him a crooked grin and lightly lifting up his feet and setting them on her lap to sit on the other end of the couch.

"If you want, I figured you'd be knocked out, Mr. Iraq time. How's the hip?"

"Sore. Honestly though? It feels a ton better. Thanks for helping me with it this week. I can't imagine having to start all over again just because they didn't have someone for me to work with on day one. How's your leg? I saw the limp when you came in."

"Yeah, I pushed it a bit at the track. God, I just wanna run again, you know? Be able to do my five miles whenever the hell I want." She saw his nod. "I've got the crutch in the car just in case walking is in my immediate future."

Emily turned at the top of the steps. "Okay, Marines. Who's grabbing the bag?" 

Sydney set his legs aside and hopped up. "I got it. Shall we mustang?"

Michael whooped with excitement and rose, slipping his flip flops on as his cargo shorts dangled just below his knees. White bands of scar tissue striped his shins and calves, any scar Sydney and Emily ignoring.  _ 'He'll bring it up when he's ready, _ ' they'd think and move on with whatever they were doing.

The drive to the airport was animated as Emily talked about the cousin whose funeral she was attending, Michael and Sydney regretting aloud not knowing her when she was alive as she sounded like a great person, hermit aside.

"Alright, mom, have a safe trip. Text me when you land, okay? I hear there's some weather blowing into Denver later tonight, so you make sure that whoever picks you up knows what they hell they're doing in snow." He pulled her into a protective hug and she held him close.

"You two stay safe and don't get into too much riff-raff," she ordered, the two Marines promising as they each placed kisses on her cheek as she made her way with her rolling suitcase into the main building.

"Mom's away, let's get a party together!" Michael hooped, leaning on his cane.

"How's the leg feel?"

"Why?" he countered, Sydney merely jingling the keys in front of him. "Really?"

"If you think you can – get us home, Captain." She opened the driver’s door and made her way around to the other side.

"Challenge accepted." Giddy like a schoolboy, he tossed the cane into the backseat, Sydney's crutch in the trunk, and slid into the leather. Testing switching between the brake and the gas he was surprised at how little pressure was put on his hip.

"That's the exercise for you. Helping with the little stuff first. Big stuff like jogging comes later. We'll get there," she promised as he pulled out of the terminal. Getting to the highway he was gently accelerating. "Listen, grandma, this is a Mustang. Get it going fast or don't drive it."

He laughed and pushed the gas, the car lurching forward as they flew down the highway.

"Hey, my friend is hosting a Christmas Party thing at the restaurant she owns. I was going to go and figured I'd give you an invitation. You can be my plus one if you'd like."

Michael readily agreed, "I've been waiting for something to get me out of that house. Don't get me wrong – I'm glad to be home and I love every moment I spend with my mom, but she doesn't even have beer, Sydney." She brunette laughed with an infectious smile.

"It's a plan. Plus – our apartment is two blocks away from the restaurant. We could drink all we want and then stumble home."

"Don't you and I stumble enough as it is?"

By the time they got back to the house his hip was quite sore, but he'd pushed it because it was driving a fast car with the windows down. He was going to lie down and get some shut-eye before heading out, and she promised to be by and pick him up around 8 p.m.

**…**

About ten minutes early, Sydney walked into the house hearing silence. "Vaughn?" No one answered. She set her purse down on the end table and made her way in. The knee-length red dress was loose and flowing from the waist down; the top clung to her curves with the sleeves short and hanging slightly off the shoulder.

Moving farther into the home she called his name again, hearing the same silence.  _ 'Maybe he's still sleeping.' _ Moving up the stairs she saw the lights on and that his bedroom door was slightly ajar. She knocked lightly, "Vaughn?"

His heavy breathing greeted her as she opened the door, Michael sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of sports shorts with one hand on his knee, the other in the same position on the opposite thigh as the cloth "sock" covering the stump pressed the woven pattern into his other leg. His head hung down against his chest and she realized he was having a panic attack – perhaps just after a night terror or horrible dream. Moving in slowly, not wanting to startle him, she saw his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat as he took jagged and rushed breaths into his lungs. She knelt in front of him, her face finally coming into line with his. His features were marred by pain, his eyes dripping with tears. 

He saw her and tried to take a calming breath. "Sorry," he wheezed, her face conveying understanding and concern instead of the pity and sympathy he'd been expecting.

"Shhh – it's okay. C'mere," she mumbled and set her hands to his upper arms and pulled him forward until his head was on her shoulder. This made his body bend at a deep angle at his stomach, but that was her intent. It would open his airways a bit more and allow him to deepen his breaths. His arms left his knees and wrapped around her back, tendrils of her long hair sticking to his sweaty skin. Her hands ran circles over his back and she desperately tried to ignore the bumps, raised scars, and divots that marred his skin, undoubtedly from torture.

"It's okay. You're home – you're home and you're safe." Words just kind of seeped out and she didn't really even realize what she was saying, but whatever it was seemed to be soothing. His heart thumped wildly in his chest but it was beginning to calm, and his breathing was deepening.

"Sit up," she ordered, him obliging as he wiped at the tears and runny nose. His hand and stump rested on her shoulders. "Take a deep breath with me through your nose, okay?" Breath in. She held it for two seconds, "release from your mouth until you don't have any breath left." Release. "Again," she ordered Michael following dutifully. She held the breath for four seconds this time before releasing, but he went with her every step of the way, their eyes never parting. She knew she was his lifeline for the moment and that he was trying to mentally claw his way back from the darkness in which he'd been seemingly trapped.

They got up to eight seconds holding it in before releasing. She set a hand to his chest over his heart feeling his calm and steady heartbeat. He closed his eyes on the last breath, releasing it slowly and letting his whole body relax. His left hand moved from her shoulder atop her hand against his heart.

"Thanks, Doc," he mumbled, his voice still a bit watery. He reopened his eyes and saw her kneeling before him with a gentle smile and soft eyes. She got to her feet, staggering a bit from the grouchy twinge in her leg, Michael's hand moving to her hip to steady her. She thanked him quietly and reached up to run a hand through his sweaty hair, massaging his scalp for a moment. He closed his eyes again and leaned into her soft ministrations as they calmed his spirit.

"Hey," Sydney whispered after a few moments of silence, Michael looking up at her with wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. "Get dressed. I want to take you somewhere."

He wiped at his face a moment and frowned with a shake of his head, "I don't think -"

"Trust me." Tossing it over her shoulder she left the room and closed the door behind her. Stopping off in the guest room she pulled the dress up and over her head and tossed it to the bed, the dresser providing a v-neck long-sleeved shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, more suitable for her plans. Grateful that Emily had forced her to keep several outfits in the house's spare bedroom she moved to the mirror and undid the pins holding her hair up and away from her face, ruffling it around between her fingers before gathering it up in a ponytail and leaving the room.

They met in the hallway, Michael still looking lost and confused though he'd obediently pulled on a light long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.

Grabbing the hoodie on the chair near the door she locked the house up leading him to the car, and while he was thankful for her silence, he desperately wanted to know where they were going. Still, he followed her lead. Rolling the windows down as she gunned it onto the highway he felt a smile tug at his lips before heaving a sigh and settling back against the leather as the wind whipped his lengthening hair atop his head.

Driving from the city toward the beach he frowned when they came up to a large gate marked 'Naval War Games: Authorized Personnel Only'. Driving the car to the gate a crewman jumped out to meet her, his salute casual as he peeked in through her open window. The two shared a fist bump and Vaughn's curiosity was piqued.

"Can you give me a little while?"

"Deal. Honk when you come back out; don't get stuck in the sand like last time." Another salute and he made his way to the little watch building, the arm of the gate before them opening up as she drove the Mustang through to the waiting area, the seaman unlocking the big fence and sliding it open.

She kept her silence as she took apparently well-known twists and turns on the single-lane asphalt trail, stopping the car when they were essentially in the middle of nowhere with a large dune blocking and covering the road before them. Killing the engine she finally turned and looked over at him with a soft smile.

"Where are we?"

"Trust me." She reached into the back seat and grabbed the hoodie as the chilled sea air began to sink through her light shirt. It had been a relatively warm night in the city, but along the shore, the breeze was stronger and she'd been out here many times before unable to enjoy herself as her teeth chattered and shivers took control of her muscles.

She jumped out and closed the door behind her, leaning back in through the open window as Michael looked around warily. "Get out," she ordered gruffly, the smile on her face belying the attitude.

"You know…I outrank you."

"Okay; get out,  _ sir _ ." Moving away from the car she made her way into the sand and followed the footpath as it led up a steep incline. Waiting for him at the bottom she held out a hand, helping him up the side of the man-made dune until they reached the top. The view before them was gorgeous and he stopped for a moment to take it in with wide surprised eyes. The pristine beach was littered with hundreds of thousands of seashells and as the moon traveled low across the sky the reflection of it and millions of stars that twinkled on the surface of the water. Waves washed up to languidly soak the sand before pulling back as dozens of shells tumbled in and out with the tide.

Sydney couldn't help the soft smile as she watched his face take it all in. She remembered the times her father would bring her here as a child while he was on leave and they'd collect shells together to later make into necklaces, bracelets, ornaments – anything and everything she made as a child had a shell glued to it somewhere. She'd been sneaking in for years, though alone for all of them in her adult life, especially when her mother had died.

She shook out the bad memories and tried to focus on the good, turning her attention back to the man beside her. She found his green eyes on her and blushed a moment before flopping down into the sand and pulling her legs up under her chin. He settled next to her with a strained grunt, wiggling around until he found a position that was comfortable for his hip.

Together they sat, minutes ticking away like the waves crashing on the beach below. Sydney closed her eyes and let the sounds of the gulls and water lull her mind and soul. Gone were the blaring horns of traffic jams, loud arguing and laughter of busy city streets – here was just the wind, sand, and water.

She cracked an eye as Vaughn moved, seeing him slide down the dune part way until he'd created a little divot for his backside, leaning back against the cool sand with a sigh. She grinned but stayed put as she closed her eyes once more, time passing and she didn't realize he was speaking until he was several words into his sentence.

"…how to really do things any more. You know?"

_ 'Shit. Maybe it was rhetorical?' _

She looked down at him seeing him facing away from her. She stayed silent and hoped he would continue. "I mean…it's not just the damn hand. Sure buttoning a shirt is a pain in the ass right now, but – but it's the other stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Like going to the fucking grocery store for cereal. Or…or needing to buy pillowcases."

_ 'Ah. The problem for any soldier between tours or after discharge: figuring out your life in a country that isn't trying to blow you up or shoot you on a daily basis.' _

"It gets easier."

He sighed and rolled to his stomach propping his chin up on his folded arms. "I'm so sick of hearing that."

She chuckled and closed her eyes again as a gull overhead screeched. "I mean…not from you," he back-pedaled, flashing a nervous look. She waved him off and they fell silent again until Michael spoke up once more.

"It was different every other time. You knew when the tour was over and you could wind down. But…we didn't get that. We just – got yanked from one place to another – one world to another."

He closed his eyes and sighed, Sydney taking a moment to study the wrinkles on his forehead and the worry lines around his frowning mouth. He was right – for both of them. Knowing the date you're going home was like a balm for the bad days. You could always count down and know that no matter what was going on be it the endless heat, sandstorms, gunfights, or boring days digging trenches or Humvees out of the sand, that date would get closer and closer. When something happens and you're yanked out early, it's not a relief – it's a burden. It's  _ harder _ to acclimate, and she knew that all too well.

"How do you just…get to be normal again?" His question seemed rhetorical, and when he didn't look to her for an answer she debated saying something against keeping silent and letting the waves and wind soothe him.

Memories flooded her mind and she looked back out at the water as the moon moved across the sky. "We don't get that luxury." Her voice was merely a whisper and Vaughn had to open his eyes to confirm she'd said anything at all.

Tears filled her eyes as she continued to study the dark waves bathed only in the moon and starlight. "You can't kill people, and dig bullets out of kids, and lose friends in the dirt, and expect things to be normal when it's all over." A droplet dripped down her cheek landing on her knee as she closed her eyes and sighed.

They sat in silence for another half hour before she heard him shift, cracking her eyes open and seeing him push himself on his left hand until he was sitting beside her once more, his breathing heavy as he winced and straightened his legs out in front of him.

"Sorry for ruining your palace of solitude," he mumbled and she let out a quiet chuckle.

"You can't ruin this place. I've thrown everything at this beach. Every moment of hate, rage, sadness…it's taken it all remarkably well."

"How'd you find it?"

A wistful smile ghosted her lips, "my dad used to bring me here when I was a kid. Getting in is the only instance I've ever abused the ' _ I'm the admiral's daughter _ ' cliché. This is my escape."

"From what?"

"Normal," she admitted seeing him frown. "When you have that moment of standing in the middle of the store wondering what the hell you're doing with your life – buying peanut butter instead of jumping out of helicopters – this is the escape. This beach doesn't care if you're normal and if you come here with baggage, you don't have to take it home with you. You can leave it all in the sand."

Michael was impressed by the honesty in her words and another few minutes went by before he grinned and bumped into her with his shoulder. "How many guys have you brought to your secluded, private beach?" Her peal of laughter bounced off the ridges of the dune and she shook her head.

"You know…I - I've never brought anyone else. Just you," she looked down with a blush as she chewed at the side of her lip.

Vaughn was surprised and a bubble of something fluttered in his stomach. "Why?"

"Because you needed it." She faced him with sincere brown eyes. "If you ever feel the crushing weight of normal…I'll always bring you here."

The drive back was silent as Michael thought about what she'd said.  _ 'Normal is a luxury.' _ The sky was a soft yellow hue and he felt sleep tugging at him. The neighborhood was silent and the house looked warm and quiet.

"You're welcome to stay," he mumbled as she turned the engine off. He tried to keep out the desperation in his voice and he didn't want to admit that he feared being alone. She answered with a smile and hopped out to pop the trunk and grab a duffel bag.

"I'd planned on it."

Michael grinned and rolled his eyes. "You mean mom asked you."

She shrugged and they walked inside, Sydney stopping in the doorway to the spare room as Vaughn made his way down the hall. "Hey – wake me up if you need, okay? 'Nite," she paused to turn back with a grin, "Captain."

"Thanks, LT. For everything." He meant it, giving her a lopsided grin before making his way past the door. Falling into the bed he fell asleep easily for the first time in over a year.

**…**


	13. While Mom Is Away - Day 1

Sydney felt the weight of the bed shift and cracked her eye open to see Tony leaning heavily on his palm as he loomed above her with grumpy green eyes.

"I don't know what corps  _ you _ were trained in – but missing breakfast earns push-ups."

Realization dawned slowly on the still half-asleep young woman and she buried her face into the soft pillow in an attempt to get away from the sun streaming in through the open window and the overbearing uncle-figure. "Shit…Tony I'm sorry. I-"

"Uh-huh; downstairs in ten. And bring the other lazy Marine with you. Sleeping past 0600 – for shame." With that, he left the room and she sat up with a glare at his retreating back. The clock on her phone read 8:08 a.m., confirming along with her heavy eyelids that only three hours had passed since she'd crawled into bed.

Flopping back against the pillow and yanking the blankets over her face, she couldn't help the lazy smile that graced her lips as she thought back to the night before and she hoped that Vaughn had gotten something out of it as well. Heaving a sigh she threw the blankets off and tossed her legs over the side. Running a hand through her tangled brown hair, she reached down, grabbed the prosthetic, and snapped it on. Standing and stretching she made her way into the hall.

"Eight minutes!" Tony's voice hollered up from the lower floor, Sydney rolling her eyes with a grin and moving down the hall to Vaughn's room, the door open.

He was flopped on his stomach in the same clothes he'd been wearing the night before, one leg off the bed and his head missing the pillow completely. "Vaughn," she called quietly, his breathing shifting but nothing else changed. "Vaughn." He groaned low in his chest and turned his head away from the door.

"Michael."

"Whhhhhyyyyyy?"

She chuckled and leaned against the door frame. "Tony's here. Breakfast; remember?"

"Whhyy?"

"He's timing us. Six minutes." She moved back to her room and slipped on a pair of cargo pants, deciding the camisole would be fine paired with the hoodie she's tossed to the couch before bed. Running the brush through her hair she left it down and wrapped the tie around her wrist before making her way down the steps as Tony sat on the couch, paper in hand.

"Three minutes to spare, Bristow. Not bad. And your partner?"

"Leave no man behind. Last I saw he was at least conscious." She had a sleepy voice and walked to the kitchen intent on a cup of coffee before leaving the house. Alas, none had been started and she groaned, looking at the empty pot with disdain.

"Long night?" Tony's voice was directly behind her and she jumped, dropping the coffee mug onto the top of her prosthetic. It bounced off into several broken pieces and she tossed him a glare.

"We got in around…04:30?" She grunted out as she picked the pieces up and escorted them to the trash can.

"Any details you want to divulge?" His eyes were curious and cautious and he leaned on his shoulder against the side of the fridge.

"Why the interrogation,  _ dad _ ? He's not a pumpkin. Emily asked me to stay because of the night terrors."

"Look – he's fragile."

Sydney put together the coffee and water and started the brew, turning to face him with a hand on her hip. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind? I'm tired, okay? I don't want to guess."

"I just don't think he'd be ready for a…fling – or something like that."

The moment his point was made, an incredulous look flashed across her face, and she crossed her arms angrily over her chest regarding him with fiery brown eyes. "First: I thought you had a little more faith in me than that. Second: why the hell would you feel it's  _ your _ job to say anything? Third: what the fuck, Tony?"

He held his hands up in defense and broke her furious gaze. "I just - I wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page."

"We're not even in the same book right now."

Tony sighed and his face scrunched up into a grimace. "He's been through a lot. I think a…distraction might not be good for him right now. He just needs to concentrate on recovery, nothing - extracurricular."

Sydney let out an angry half chuckle as she pushed off the counter and walked past the older man, making for the front door.

"Don't go, Sydney – c'mon; I'm sorry. You know I don't know what tact means, let alone have any in my possession." Tony followed and grabbed her arm, flinching when she yanked it away and turned on him with a pointed finger.

"I waited just as long as you did. I had to put up with the fucking guilt and - and the goddamned sideways glances when everyone in your whole family learned who I was and why I was even at this fucking house." Her voice was low and watery as tears filled and spilled down her cheeks.

"That's not what I meant, you know that." His voice was equally low as the both glanced to the other side of the room at the empty stairs and silent upper floor.

"Don't – talk to me about what you meant. I trusted you – I shared things with you based on that trust, Tony."

"I know." Guilt was seeping into his heart at her words.

Sydney wiped angrily at her cheeks and lifted her keys and purse off the table near the door, her voice still a harsh whisper. "Fuck you for throwing it back in my face. All those times you said I was good enough to be part of the family because of who I am and - and how great I was for coming here when I got out. I guess we found the one thing I'm not good enough for, didn't we?"

"That's not fair," he started as the top stair creaked, pulling the attention from each other and over to Michael as he looked down on the two with concerned green eyes.

"What's goin' on?"

She opened the door and walked out with one last baleful glare at the older man, slamming it behind her. The Mustang roared to life and a squeal of the tires indicated her departure. The living room was silent and Tony could feel the glare from his nephew.

"What did you do?"

"It's something Sydney and I talked about a few days ago. She's still…pissed."

The younger Vaughn scoffed as he finished limping down the steps. "Still? She wasn't pissed yesterday; she wasn't pissed last night. What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." He lifted his cane up and leaned on it.

Tony flopped down on the couch and regarded his nephew with guilty eyes. "I don't know how not to push her buttons sometimes, you know?"

"Were you trying to push them?"

"Maybe – unintentionally – to make a point."

They lapsed into silence, Michael staring the father-figure down. Tony acquiesced as he wiped sweaty palms on the knees of his jeans.

"Look – all I said was that maybe time alone between you two-" he paused with a stutter trying to find the words to not piss off the other person he'd made plans with for the day. "You know."

"Find your spine, Tone."

"I think you both need time before jumping to anything – together."

Michael flashed surprised eyes at his uncle before rolling them upward and shaking his head. "Are you seriously suggesting that two adults can't be in the same room without just spontaneously having sex?"

"No. C'mon, I see you two getting closer and I just think that you need to take time to figure out your own shit before looking for any kind of quick fix."

"Wow. Tell me you did not say those  _ exact _ words."

Tony stuttered somewhere between a positive and a negative, Michael flopping onto the seat across from the couch, rubbing his hand over his face. The quiet of the room was tense, the elder not knowing where to take the conversation else he end up in a deeper hole than the one he'd already managed to dig.

"You don't think we can just be friends?"

_ 'No. Not when a few days ago she spilled her fucking guts after we both had too many beers.' _

"I'm just trying to look out for you," he conceded.

"Well did it ever occur to you that I might have feelings for  _ her _ ?"

Tony didn't respond but he was stopped dead in the water.

Michael fell back against the back of the love seat with a frustrated sigh. "I don't need your help with shit like this, Tony. I just need you to be here for me when I  _ do _ need you. I need  _ her _ for different reasons."

"Like what?" He knew he shouldn't have asked, but the words came out anyway. He was feeling defensive and wanted to know what Sydney Bristow could give his nephew – other than the obvious – that he couldn't.

"She's the only person in my life right now that understands a lot of what I'm going through – what I went through. She doesn't give me pity and regret. Don't give me that look – you and mom have made me feel uncomfortable in my own skin more times in the last week and a half that you realize. Bristow has  _ never _ made me feel any less of who I am just because of  _ this _ ," he held up the cane, "or  _ this _ ," he held up his right arm, the end of the long-sleeved shirt pinned up against the forearm to keep the fabric from dangling.

Tony felt a pang in his chest as he realized that while he'd been worried about Sydney falling for his nephew, he hadn't considered how easy it would have been for his nephew to fall for Sydney. He didn't know why he was so surprised and how he forgot that all equations have two sides.

"I – I spent eight months as a prisoner. I watched as countless civilians were killed – women…children – and I got the shit kicked out of me half a dozen times a week when they wanted intelligence that I had no way of providing. My men and I literally had our hands cut off because we managed to get extra food when being moved through this shitty little outskirt village." Michael's voice was almost a whisper and his eyes became distant and unfocused. Tony wanted to stop him; he didn't want to know the details lest they break his heart. Fortunately, his nephew ceased and seemed to come back to the present.

"Everything changed so quickly, Tone. I had no idea who she was. She was literally another soldier, but she had my back. She lost a leg watching my back. For a little while, in those fucking dingy walled-off rooms those assholes kept moving us to, I remembered all of them – everyone that got out. I did not regret giving my seat to the medic – I didn't remember her name…and after a while, I forgot her face." He paused as tears welled up in his eyes and a finger from his left hand traced the stump beneath the fold of fabric.

"When the Peshmerga busted up that camp and rescued us along with a handful of their own men and women, I just remembered feeling that I had no regrets. Still – despite everything. I decided on that day that I was done having regrets."

Michael paused, Tony focusing hard on the pattern of his jeans. "I'm not going to just sit and let life go by, Tone. I'm not going to – to meet someone like Sydney and regret I never said anything about how I feel. I'm not going to pretend that I don't have feelings – I did that for eight months out of necessity and I won't do it a single day for the rest of my life."

Shame bubbled up into the back of Tony's throat along with fear, anger, and sadness. Tears fell from his eyes and he ignored their tracks while balling his fists up as they sat atop his thighs.

Michael sighed and wiped at his face before looking out the front window, the warm sun on the flowerbeds his mother spent so much time tending.

"I'm sorry, son. I really screwed up."

The young man cocked a smile at his uncle. "You're the worst wingman ever."

**…**

Sydney flopped down onto the bench with a grimace taking gasping breaths as others at the track continued their laps. She'd managed three before she felt her leg start to throb and decided to call it a day before it gave out and she ended up with another case of road rash. Gathering up her things she made her way to the car and then home, pouring a hot bath with salts to soothe her muscles.

She'd been going over the morning time and time again realizing that she'd reacted so poorly to Tony's comments because he was right. She'd been telling herself for the last week that she couldn't let her feelings for Vaughn go anywhere – not yet. She'd chalked it up to the fact that it was so exciting that he was home, though she'd honestly fallen for him before he even made it back to American soil. The family's stories ensured he was always at the forefront of everyone's thoughts, but she was sure that this crush she was experiencing was nothing more than relief at having him home. It would subside eventually – when things weren't so brand new.

Stepping out from the tub she dressed into a wine-red camisole and a pair of shorts intending to take a long nap. She knew she'd have to head back over to the house - after all, she'd promised Emily and couldn't go back on her word. For now, however, her fluffy bed was calling. Tossing the blankets back and sliding in, she'd begun drifting off when a knock at the door pulled her back to reality. Sitting up with a growl and a frown she listened for a moment until another knock sounded. Sighing and throwing off the warm covers she decided that anyone that was there would have to deal with a young woman sporting a severed leg opening the door. Tucking the crutch under her arm she made her way out to the living room, the knock sounding one more time.

"Yeah, yeah – I'm coming," she groused, tossing it open.

Michael grinned at her disheveled appearance, the grin disappearing as he looked down. Her legs looked a lot like his – white scar tissue flecking her otherwise perfectly tanned skin around the stump, and even her right leg didn't get out unscathed, a scar from a large gash running down the inner edge of her shin. He shook out of it and looked back to her surprised face.

"Hey," he mumbled, Sydney repeating the greeting though she didn't move from her spot leaning on the crutch.

"I – I'm sorry about this morning," she started, Michael waving her off.

"Tony can be a dick. I get it. I came to barter a truce: barbecue – tonight. You gotta be there."

She sighed and looked down, running a free hand through her bed-head hair. "I'll see how I feel, okay?"

Michael nodded as his face fell a bit, and he settled the cane under his palm turning away from the door. "Okay." Limping his way back to the parking area she spotted Tony sitting in the car realizing that Michael had essentially forced the man to drive him to her apartment.

"Hey," she called out, Vaughn turning with a hopeful half-smile. "Even if I don't make the barbecue, I'll be over tonight – I promised." He chuckled and waved before heading off and she closed the door quietly.

Twenty minutes later Francie came home and found Sydney flopped on the couch with a troubled look on her face.

"Ut-oh…it looks like a wine night." They shared a laugh, the ebony woman kicking off her shoes and joining her friend.

"I have a crush on Vaughn."

"Duh."

Sydney was surprised at her friend's response, Francie rolling her eyes and propping her head on her hand against the padded back of the sofa.

"I'm your best friend. You think I don't notice these kinds of things? You've been in crush-mode for a couple weeks. A  _ ton _ this week, which is understandable."

"I told Tony."

Francie winced. "Why?"

A shrug. "Well first, we were drinking. Which is your fault because you kept bringing us drinks. Second...I dunno - maybe I thought he’d actually have some advice or something. But this morning he basically told me that Michael didn’t need a  _ fling _ to get better and I should keep my distance."

"Yikes. So that explains the long face."

"Well, that and Michael came by a little while ago. Barbecue at the house this evening."

Francie grinned and lifted her eyebrows waiting for the bad part of the news. "That's it?"

"What if Tony told him?"

"Wouldn't he have mentioned it?"

Sydney grumbled in frustration, calming for a moment when her friend set a hand to her arm. "Take a moment and ask this very simple question.  _ 'What do _ I  _ want _ '?"

The brunette’s response was a sigh and an eyeroll.

"Ask it."

"I don't want to."

"Ask:  _ 'what do _ I  _ want' _ ?" Francie pushed.

"Fine.  _ What do I want _ ?"

"You want Michael." The blush that ran up from Sydney's chest to her cheeks was instant, the young woman beside her laughing and standing up. "So go get him! You've spent over a year sitting and waiting. Sure you probably didn’t know what you were waiting for, but how many times have you gotten laid since you got back from Iraq?"

A sidelong glare was her answer, and Francie held her hands up in defense with a soft smile on her face. “You gotta live your life, Syd. If that’s going for Michael and getting something out of it, great. If all that comes out is friendship, that’s great too. But if you don’t go for it, the next time we’re all hanging out I’m straight telling him you want him.”

Sydney laughed, though she knew Francie was dead serious. “I hate when you’re right, you know that.”

“And yet here I am always being right. Deal with it.” 

**…**

The grill smoked into the sky, the smell of cooking burgers filling the patio as a cooler filled with soda and water sat open with the ice melted inside. The evening was warm and clear, and the group of around ten hanging out around the patio and yard talking wildly as they told stories intent on one-upping each other.

"Speaking of some of the best war stories, where's Sydney?" Dave asked as he and a few others sat back in the patio chairs watching some of the other guys toss knives into the big oak tree across the lawn.

"Tony pissed her off," Michael spoke behind his soda as he took a long drink, a grin breaking his lips as Tony glared from across the patio.

"She'll get over it. It's not the first time I've pissed her off."

Dave grumbled, leaning down to pick up a stone at his feet and throwing it at his brother. "We like her more than you. Call and tell her to come over and then you can go home, Tone."

The group shared a laugh, a few of the guy's servicemen friends of his uncles. Tony flipped them off before pulling it back and standing straighter as the subject of their conversation walked through the sliding glass door.

Dressed in a tank top and the cargo pants, her hoodie tied around her waist, she looked around at the men lounging in the yard with a chuckle.

"This has to be the lamest Marine party I've ever seen." Dave and a few others whooped and jumped up to take turns pulling her into a hug. Tony found the ground interesting as he toed the rock where it had landed, looking up when she called out his name.

"Peace offering," she grinned and threw her keys at him. "It's in the trunk and I'm not carrying it." As Tony and Dave made their way back through the house she sat in Dave's abandoned chair and sent a small smile in Michael's direction. "How's the leg? We skipped stretches today."

"Ugh...stretches," he grumbled with a laugh, his hip twinging at the mere thought. "It's okay. I haven't done much but sit around so it's kind of leaving me alone tonight."

Cheers from the front yard wafted to the back, Michael frowning with a chuckle and looking over at her. "What did you do?"

"Brought a mini keg."

"But mom doesn't allow drinking at the house," he commented and leaned back in the chair.

"Well mom isn't here. You gonna tattle?"

"Maybe," he laughed, Tony and Dave walking through the doors with the small keg in tow.

She hopped up to go inside and find plastic cups leaving the men to figure out beer extraction. As she was pulling the cups down from the upper cabinet Tony's voice filled the quiet kitchen behind her.

"I'm sorry, Syd." She jumped and turned to face him with a glare.

"Come on, Tone - you gotta stop sneaking up on me. You know my hearing is crap after the damn explosion," She grabbed a stack of the cups and put the rest back before leaning against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest. Regarding him with guarded brown eyes, she waited for him to speak.

"I screwed up this morning and said stuff I shouldn't have; I'm sorry." His eyes couldn't meet hers and he continued to stare at the bowl of fruit on the counter.

"Tony, it's not the fact that you said something that hurt. It's what you said; it's how you said it." She paused and sighed realizing that still being mad at the older Marine wasn't going to do either of them any good. "I get it - you just got him back."

"So did you," he countered, sneaking a look up before averting again.

"I never had him in the first place. I've known him for a week and a half. The point is that I expect  _ all  _ of you to be protective. And if I was just some random chick the conversation from this morning would have absolutely made sense. That's what hurt, Tone. I...felt in that moment like a stranger. You know how much I value you and Emily bringing me into the family, but...I - I just felt like you were kicking me out just because Michael came home. That’s what made me angry."

Tony nodded but stayed silent. She joined him as thoughts of what to say next tripped through her mind. She continued after he stayed quiet for an awkward amount of time.

"For what it's worth, I agree with  _ what  _ you said this morning despite  _ how  _ you said it. And I’m trying - just...know that I’m giving him priority over me." Her strong demeanor shifted to unsure and it was Tony that finally found his guts.

"I’m so sorry that I made you feel...alone again. You’re not, okay? Never. I promise that no matter how much of a dick I am, you’ll always be my neice," Tony swore, pulling her into a hug and hearing her sniffle against his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Syd, I’m probably wrong. Maybe what you guys need is each other and not some old dude barking orders.”

“Probably,” she chuckled, wiping at her cheeks as they separated. “Take these out to the guys, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

“Yes, Lieutenant,” he obeyed with a small salute and a grin.

Sydney made her way back out a few minutes later, evidence of their kitchen apology to one another gone from her features. The evening progressed as they set up the washer boards, a Vaughn family tradition. Two rectangle-shaped low boxes covered in carpet were laid about 15 feet apart, and the groups formed teams. Thumps, clanks, groans, and cheers were heard over the next couple of hours as each team tried to land their six metal washers into the holes of the opposite board. The motion of standing and tossing the washers finally aggravated Michael’s hip to the point of having him bow out, Tony making him score-keeper as he talked a healthy dose of crap to his brother Dave as the older man tried to make his last shot.

Nearing midnight only Dave, Tony, and two of Dave's friends were still at the house. For fifteen minutes Michael and Sydney shared eye rolls as the others compared battle scars. Tony often claimed that his war wound was keeping him from doing things like the dishes, folding towels, vacuuming - and here he was sitting in a lawn chair after ten beers with his shirt off pointing to the tiny faded scar on the very outside of his left shoulder.

“Wait, wait,” Sydney ordered, leaning across the table from her chair to get a closer look at the mini scar. “ _ This  _ is  _ it _ ?! Tony’s famous battle scar that made me, with one leg, mow the lawn last week?” She gave his shoulder a shove and flopped back down as everyone laughed at the suddenly hurt look on Tony’s face.

“It’s cold outside...it...it looks bigger when it’s not cold,” he groused, pulling his shirt back on.

Dave reached over and poked Sydney's arm, a small pink scar on the outside edge. "Yeah, Tone - Syd has the same scar and hasn’t bitched about it once. Was this one from the helicopter crash?" 

“Helicopter crash?” Michael questioned, Sydney rolling her eyes as the guys almost started begging for her to tell the story for the thousandth time.

Twisting her arm back and forth she ran a finger over the puckered pink skin clearly recognizing it as a gunshot, complete with the exit wound on the other edge of her arm, but she ended up shaking her head. "Dunno. I don't remember how I got that one."

Michael chuckled next to her, "I do. I gave you my rifle for cover fire out of that IED crater, remember? You got zinged."

"Oh shit, that's right. I totally forgot about that. The whole twenty minutes is a bit of a jumble. I remember a bit here and there but...I can't quite put it into chronological order."

"Well you did get blown up," the youngest Vaughn reminded with a grim chuckle. The show and tell continued, Sydney glad they forgot about egging her on to story tell as each time she regaled anyone with the deeds of her second tour bedtime was accompanied by at least one nightmare.

Steve, Dave's neighbor, had an impressive puckered scar from the base of his rib cage to the right of his belly button, and followed it up with the phrase, _ 'you should have seen the  _ **_other_ ** _ guy' _ .

The guys went back to trying to one-up one another with stories and scars, Sydney catching the uncomfortable look Michael had as he fingered the folded piece of fabric over his right arm. She decided to put an end to the entertaining yet macabre showcase.

"Ahem," she cleared her voice loudly, reaching down to roll her pant leg up and propping her prosthetic on the table. "I mean…if it's a contest I'm fairly sure I'm the only one here with a robot leg." she grinned, Tony and Dave rolling their eyes.

"You can't expect the leg to win every time."

"If you wanna win don’t invite me."

The group shared a laugh as Dave bundled his friend's up, punched Tony in the arm, ruffled Michael's hair, and pressed a kiss to Sydney's cheek before heading out.

"Well, I had too much beer. I'm gonna crash on the couch if that's alright with you guys." Tony wobbled a bit as he stood, the two younger Marines agreeing quickly and laughing as he tripped through the house and fell face-first onto the sofa.

The pair sat on the now quiet patio enjoying the air, Vaughn taking a moment to look over at his companion. Her legs were still propped on the table and she'd leaned back in the chair with her eyes closed, a frown marring her face.

"You've been quiet all night; everything okay?"

She cracked a smile but didn't open her eyes, the frown disappearing for a few moments. "Yeah."

"Liar," he countered with a chortle.

"Just…thinking a lot today, I guess."

He accepted her answer and that she didn't seem to be in a talking mood. The frown was gone, however, and he was happy about that.

"You okay to drive?" Michael's question threw her off, Sydney thinking he assumed that if Tony was staying the night that she would head home.

"I'm staying here tonight - I promised."

Vaughn laughed. "No – are you okay to drive right now? I want to take you somewhere." He smiled at the curious look she tossed his way.

"Where?"

"Somewhere normal can't get us. Trust me," he echoed her words from the previous night and she nodded and flashed him a smile.

"Deal."

She helped him out of the chair and they walked through the house to grab keys and shoes, Sydney grabbing a blanket out of the closet and tossing it over Tony's back before locking the door behind them.

He gave directions as they drove downtown, winding up toward the Hollywood sign until he directed her to pull in at the parking lot for the observatory. The lot was empty save for a single car around back where he instructed her to park.

"I think we're after hours," she smiled, Vaughn popping his door open and stepping out.

"You think you're the only one with connections, Bristow? Let's go, Lieutenant." Waiting a moment for her to hop out he led the way to the back door marked 'Security'. Knocking once, an older, white-haired man looking up from behind thick-rimmed glasses, she saw his round face light up at the man behind the door. He hopped up and waddled his short, stout body to the entrance and popped the door open.

"Michael Vaughn, you've been away too long," he scolded, ushering the pair in and latching the locked door behind them.

"Good to see you, Steve. How's the wife?"

"Good as ever. Who's this – you never bring girls to meet me," he elbowed Michael lightly in the side, as high as his arm managed to go.

"Steve Stafford, meet Lieutenant Sydney Bristow."

The man huffed at the formality, though stood straight with a proper salute before pulling her into a quick hug. "Marine?"

"Hoo-rah," she replied, slipping her hands in the pockets of her cargo pants and rocking back on her heels.

"Atta girl. What brings you in?"

"You've got the best sky in L.A., Steve."

He smiled wide, hooking his thumbs into his belt and proudly sticking out his chest. "C'mon, kids." Walking them through the main exhibits area, the group taking it slow as Michael leaned heavily on his cane but refusing one of the padded wheelchairs when offered. Sydney took the longer walk to look around at the models and kiosks with a grin, the security guard talking over his shoulder as he led the way.

"How did you two meet?"

They shared a knowing glance, Michael answering, "Iraq. Technically, we got out at the same time."

_ 'That's one hell of a paraphrase.'  _ Sydney thought grimly.

"Out, out?" Steve asked looking over, wincing as Michael held up his right arm, Sydney lifting her pant leg to show off the metal prosthetic. "Damn, sorry 'bout that, kids - that's a rough deal. Still – could be worse, right? "

"Steve served in the Marines," Vaughn explained, Sydney nodding as the guard led them to two huge painted doors.

"I'll leave you to it. Still remember how to run the machine?" The young man nodded, Steve shaking their hands once more. "Come find me when you're done with the stars; you know where I'll be."

Stepping into the huge auditorium, the domed ceiling above them, the only light shone from the emergency sign behind and above their heads. Moving to the far side, a wide podium had a small reading light over a computer screen and mouse. Turning everything on, Vaughn told her to hang out in the middle for a moment while he set stuff up, Sydney smiling as the screen illuminated his excited face.

Michael set the program to Constellation Loop and the ceiling above and around them lit up to a picture of the night sky devoid of any light pollution. The Milky Way stood out like a ribbon as yellow, laser-like lines connected stars into their constellation shapes like a connect-the-dot puzzle. Standing in the center of the room she found herself looking up in awe at the beauty of a fake night sky.

He chuckled at the look on her face, moving to a closet at the back of the room and opening it to find dozens of blankets and large flat pillows. Calling her over they lugged out as much as they could to make a soft spot in the center of the floor before flopping down and watching as the sky above them turned slowly, though much faster than in real-time.

They lay beside one another content merely to share the scene. Looking up as the constellation of Orion moved above them, he spoke.

"What did Tony say to you this morning?"

She stayed silent but he heard her sigh. "It doesn't matter."

"Sure it does," he prodded.

Sydney adjusted the pillow behind her head and turned to peek over at her companion. His eyes were still fixed above and his face looked relaxed.

"He told me that you were fragile."

"Ouch," Michael chuckled as he faked a grimace and set his hand against his heart as if he'd been struck.

Sydney grinned and continued. "He said that you needed to focus on recovery and that a fling would be too much of a distraction."

"Double ouch."  _ 'Damn, Tony. You're lucky she didn't knock you out.' _

They were quiet once more, Sydney lost in her own thoughts as Vaughn tried to think of how to word more of the conversation.

"Why did that make you so mad?" He finally looked over at her and it was his turn to study the side of her face as she focused her attention on the moving star patterns. He saw her eyes roll and a frown turn her mouth downward.

"I get it. I mean…they just got you back and they're super protective. He only wants to make sure you're okay." She paused and closed her eyes as she tried to juggle what she did and didn't want to say aloud.

"That's not it. That wouldn't have made you mad. In almost two weeks you and I have been honest with each other about everything – don't start compartmentalizing now."

She chuckled and turned to face him with confused, unsure brown eyes. "Do you really want me to be honest?"

"I always want you to be honest. I think you're the only person in my life right now that's been one hundred percent with me no matter what." He sat and pulled his legs up, wrapping his arms around his knees in an effort to take some pressure off of his aggravated hip.

Sydney joined him as she sat and turned her body to face his, folding her good leg underneath her left knee. She found a loose thread on the pillow between them and plucked at it, unable to meet his green stare.

"It took me weeks – months to get over the outsider feeling. Your mom would call and ask to do lunch and go shopping and do dinners, and while I really did want to go because she's such a great person…I wasn't able to check my guilt at the door. But I couldn’t say no, you know? I knew how lonely she was and that I was a distraction she needed. I mean, it - it wasn’t just her. It’s the first time since my mom that I - I actually felt that close to someone in a parental way." Michael nodded and let her continue, his gaze focused on her face as she avoided eye contact. 

"Tony made me face the whole thing months ago. He convinced me that – that I could be part of the family if I wanted. He told me to check my guilt, that I didn’t need it, and I tried, I really did. I - I just couldn’t, you know? It still sits like a fucking lead weight on my lungs." she stopped as tears filled her eyes and she heaved a sigh pulling at the thread with the fingernails of her forefinger and thumb.

"So when he said,  _ 'don't try and get frisky with my nephew, lady' _ , it was more than a punch in the gut." She nodded at his words.

"That's why I got mad. Not that he wasn't right – I…I agree with  _ what _ he said, but for that moment I was back to where I was last year – back to earning trust and the right to just  _ be _ there." She shrugged. "I dunno – maybe I overreacted."

Michael shook his head. "You most certainly did  _ not _ overreact. Did he at least apologize?"

"As hard as he could."

They sat in silence for a few, Michael looking back up to the ceiling as Ursa Major crossed above them. "Why do you say he was right about what he said?"

She tossed him a smirk that essentially said,  _ 'are you serious' _ and it was his turn to roll his eyes with a grin and look back up at the moving stars. The two watched the sky change above them, the simulated moonrise acting like a spotlight and lighting up the room more.

"You said Tony tried to help with the guilt but it’s still there. What do you mean?" His question came after fifteen minutes of quiet, speakers playing crickets and owls to simulate a nighttime experience.

"Why is tonight all about me?" She attempted a subject change feeling, for the first time since her talk with the elder Vaughn, vulnerable.

"Because apparently you've had all this stuff on your mind or you wouldn't have avoided us like the plague all day. If you get it out, you'll feel better." He pulled out what shrink knowledge he could and saw the lightness of her face fall and look troubled and she again avoided his eyes.

"Vaughn, this is an inevitable conversation between us. We don't have to have it right now." Her voice was low and quiet but leaving the option to him as to how deep they delved tonight.

"Why the guilt, Syd? Why still?"

She shrugged staying quiet for a moment before looking up and meeting his soft green eyes, a tear falling and landing on the pillow. "Every single day you were gone I would've given back to your mom. It should have been me there and you here with your family. Every day." Her words were a mere whisper and if they weren't alone in the auditorium there's no way he would have heard them.

But he had heard them and they pierced his heart. Breath catching in his chest and throat he couldn't stop his eyes from filling with tears as images slammed unbidden into his mind.

"Don't-" he gulped past the lump pushing up from his stomach, "don't ever say that."

Sydney regretted instantly the words that she'd uttered as the effect they had on her friend were heartbreaking. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

His chin quivered as he shook his head. "You – you have no idea wh-what they did to the women they captured. Don't  _ ever _ say that to me again."

He took several calming breaths staring forward with glazed and unfocused eyes, Sydney scooting closer to his right side and tilting to rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her left arm wrapping around his back as minutes ticked by, the time marked by the movement of the fake moon across the auditorium ceiling.

Gathering his composure and pushing past the fear and sadness those memories brought forward, he sighed and leaned his cheek against her head, his right arm sliding around her back and leaning against her hip. He pulled back with an awkward smile, gesturing with his stump.

"Sorry. You can switch sides if you want."

Sydney was genuinely confused and cocked her eyebrow over at him. "What are you talking about?"

"The arm. I mean…if it bothers you."

He didn't expect her to laugh as she righted her stance looking up at the ceiling as the moon was now on the opposite side of the room. "It's cute when you forget who you're with. If I ever step on your toe with my robot leg, let me know ‘cause I can’t feel it."

His laugh was genuine and a light flickered back in his emerald eyes as he realized he was being self-conscious about a missing limb with the one person with which it was unnecessary. She looked up at him as he grinned down at her, and she couldn't stop from lifting the hand around his back up, her thumb rubbing a stray tear from his cheek with a soft smile.

"My mom hates it."

"Hates what?"

"Feeling it – seeing it." He looked down with something akin to shame sneaking into his features. "She'll always move to stand on my left."

Sydney nodded and flashed a comforting smile. "Well – then I'll always be on your right."

Vaughn's heart thudded in his chest at her sincerity and without a thought he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers. Though it took her off guard she responded to his gentle kiss with soft lips, her hand falling from his cheek to his shoulder. Breaking apart slowly a blush tinged his neck red as he straightened and closed his eyes.

The quiet felt awkward for the first time between them, and Michael had his first instance of regret since he'd gotten home until he heard her chuckle.

"Maybe that's what Tony was talking about."

"We should probably head back. I can imagine that he'll be up at his usual Marine dawn to bust our asses for a hangover breakfast." He looked over at her for the first time in several minutes and saw her regarding him with warm brown eyes and no hint of regret on her face.

He winced with a smile, "are - are we gonna talk about that?" His stilted question made her smile and shake her head.

"Later. We've hashed out enough shit tonight. For now, let's just go home and pass out until drill in the morning."

He laughed and decided that if she was going to take it in stride so would he. They rose and put away the pillows and blankets, Vaughn shutting the program down before leading her through the exhibits back toward security. Steve sat behind several camera monitors and sent them off with a happy smile and a wave.

The house was silent save for Tony's snoring in the living room, the pair entering as quietly as possible before heading up the stairs. Vaughn's hip was aching as they hit the top step and he leaned heavily on his cane.

"I see the limp, don't try and hide it. We'll do exercises tomorrow, guaranteed."

Michael groaned as he stopped at the doorway to the spare room. "Hey…thanks again for tonight."

" _ You _ took  _ me _ out, remember?"

He rolled his eyes with a sigh and looked down at his feet for a moment. "Still – I think everything would be a ton harder if I didn't have you around. Just having Tony and mom aren't enough. I'd hate to think I'd ruined everything by getting…romantically emotional."

She met his gaze with a smirk and reached out a hand to set it over his heart for a moment. "Sleep well, Captain."

"You too, Lieutenant," he chuckled quietly and turned heading down the hallway and into his room. He stopped at the door and turned back. "Will you go out with me?"

She grinned and leaned against the frame, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. "I just did."

"No – no. Like…dinner."

"Like a date?"

He nodded, Sydney sending him a dimpled smile. "Sure."

"Tomorrow night?"

She nodded and then straightened up before stepping into the bedroom and leaving him in the hallway with a goofy grin on his face.

**…**


	14. While Mom Is Away - Day 2

A buzzing to her left dragged her out of slumber, a groan passing her lips as she tried to ignore it. The buzzing stopped but as she was drifting back to sleep it dinged to indicate a message had been left on her voicemail. Curiosity won over as she reached a heavy hand out and turned the screen so she could read it.

'1 MISSED CALL: DAD'

'1 NEW VOICEMAIL.'

Frowning she sat up, the blanket pooling at her waist as she pulled down on the top menu and stared at the date displayed along the grey edge. Her stomach dropped as the breath was pulled from her lungs, those numbers burning into her mind as painful memories crashed into the forefront. The screen blurred as tears filled and spilled and she closed her eyes tight, clenching her jaw for a moment.

"How did I forget?" she gasped quietly. The clock next to the date read 7:14 a.m.

Guilt threatened to make her throw up, her stomach twisting into a knot as she tapped on the screen and put the phone to her ear, her father's awkward message coming through the speaker.

"Sydney – good morning. I – I was just checking in to see if we were…still on for lunch. Let me know."

She sighed and closed her eyes, dropping the phone into her comforter covered lap. "Shit," she ground out, wiping angrily at the tears coursing down her cheeks. "This fucking day. I hate  _ this  _ fucking day."

Reaching for her prosthetic she snapped it on and stood, turning to toss the blanket back into place over where she'd been sleeping. Hitting the hallway as light poured in from sunrise through the open curtains at the end of the corridor, she peeked into Vaughn's room and found him sound asleep on his stomach with the blankets wrapped around his legs and hips. His tortured back made her wince and she turned away to let him sleep the rest of the morning deciding she'd leave a note by the front door.

Making her way down the steps she didn't see Tony but did find the blanket folded at the end of the couch. Grabbing the hoodie on the chair across the room she jumped when she heard his voice.

"You okay?" Tony was standing between the kitchen and the living room with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand as he regarded the young woman with concerned eyes and disheveled graying hair. It wasn't hard to see her wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, the windows faced east and brought in plenty of early-morning sunlight.

She wiped at her face and sent a half-smile, nodding as she slipped her shoe on before grabbing her purse. Yanking the hoodie over her head she paused with a hand on the doorknob and spoke with a watery voice.

"Yeah – I'm okay. Hey…I – I forgot what day it was and I gotta go. Ummm," she paused, clearing her throat, her eyes meeting his and asking him not to ask questions. "C – could you tell Michael I may not be able to do dinner tonight? I'll…I'll be in touch."

"Do you need me to stay here tonight?"

She was thankful they were on the same page and as another tear slipped down to her jaw she wobbled her head back and forth indicating yes and no simultaneously. "Maybe. I'll call, okay? I Promise."

She left quietly, Tony frowning and moving back to the kitchen table and the newspaper.

Her brain was on autopilot as she stopped at the sign at the end of the street, dialing her father and setting the phone to her ear before pressing on toward home.

"Sydney…I didn't expect a call back so soon. I apologize if I woke you."

The sound of his voice typically put her on edge but this morning it was softer, gentler, and she found her eyes welling with tears once more as a small sob escaped her lips.

"I'm sorry, dad."

"Are you okay?"

"I…I forgot. I – how could I forget?"

Jack Bristow's heart constricted in his chest at the brokenness of her voice and he couldn't suppress the desire to reach through the phone and pull her into a hug as he had when she was a crying little girl.  _ 'How long  _ **_has_ ** _ it been since I hugged her? Was it really as far back as her childhood?' _

"Sweetheart, it's okay. You…you've been-", he paused, trying desperately to find a comforting word. "You've been busy."

She sniffled, "how can that be an excuse?"

"It's not a bad thing, Sydney. The pain is supposed to lessen over time. You will never forget, Sydney, it just isn't affecting you as much as it has in previous years. You have…a whole family with the Vaughn's that have been there for you. It makes sense that – that they would help you this time of year."

She nodded and for once in a long time the silence between them wasn't painful  _ because _ of them. "Same time and place, dad?"

"If you're feeling up to it."

"I'll see you soon."

The conversation ended as she hit the highway, her face still streaked with tears. Rolling down the windows despite the chill in the air, the wind whipped at her hair and dried her cheeks as the engine roared down the freeway.

**…**

Michael woke slowly realizing that he'd managed to sleep through another full night without a nightmare waking him gasping, sweating, and fighting against the pillows and blankets. Thankful for whatever was keeping them at bay he sat up and stretched his arms over his head before pushing to the edge of the bed and rising. The little bit of time right after he woke up he found that he was able to walk a bit without the cane and these moments are when he felt the most normal.

Moving over to the bathroom he brushed his teeth, his bare chest tanned in the mirror's reflection as the sports shorts hung low on his hips. Finishing up he moved back to the bedroom and yanked on a tank top, remembering that he was going to be doing a morning full of physical therapy with Sydney. At the thought of her, he couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips.

Grabbing his cane he carried it down the hallway and saw her door open, so he peeked in to find the bed made and no Sydney to be found. Stairs were another matter, and going both up and down the things tended to bother his hip more than anything else. Using the cane he noticed that Tony's makeshift bed was empty and the blanket was folded at the end of the couch. The scent of bacon assaulted his nose the moment he hit the bottom step and he found his uncle in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

"Morning," he greeted cheerfully, Michael repeating the phrase as he moved to the coffee pot and grabbed a cup. He spotted the time on the stove and balked.

"No early wake-up this morning? Did you really let us sleep until eleven?"

Tony laughed as he flipped open the waffle-maker and extracted the fluffy cake. "I owed you both for being a dick yesterday, so I figured I'd make breakfast for lunch and let you sleep in as long as you wanted. Where'd you guys go? I woke up to an empty house around two in the morning."

"Observatory. Just…laid back and watched the stars. Where's Syd?" Michael set his cane against the wall as he moved around to get the coffee ready.

"Oh – she left this morning around seven or so. Surprised the hell outta me since you two got in so late."

Michael couldn't help but feel disappointed, and it must have shown on his face as Tony sent him sympathetic green eyes. "Did she say when she'd be back?"

Tony shrugged, filling the waffle maker with batter and closing it before turning with confused eyes to his nephew. "It was weird; she seemed really shaken up about something. It seemed like something really rocked her. Maybe a night terror? I didn't hear anything, but I remember her saying she gets them every once and a while."

"Well did she say anything?"

"She just said she forgot what day it was and that she had to go. She wanted me to tell you she may have to miss dinner tonight."

"Weird…she didn't say anything about anything last night." The younger of the Vaughn's was lost in thought as the elder brought the food to the table.

They ate in relative silence, Michael's cell going off on the counter. Hopping up he grabbed it with a smile.

"Hey, mom – how are you?"

"Oh, Michael, I'm glad you answered. Is Sydney there? She's not answering her phone."

He frowned with a smirk, "I'm fine– thanks for asking."

"No…I'm sorry, dear. I - I just realized what day it was and I feel awful." He heard thick emotion in her voice and his jovial attitude slumped along with his shoulders. Tony asked him if there was a problem, his only response to shrug.

"What's going on? She left this morning all cryptic saying the same thing you did – that she forgot what day it was."

Emily sighed. "Look at the calendar on the fridge for me, would you? What's written down for today?"

Michael took a step to his left and peeked. "It says 'Sydney Mom'. I have no clue what that means."

"It's…it's the anniversary of her mother's death, Michael. I'd put it on the calendar after last year so I wouldn't forget, which didn't work. This…this is a really hard day for her, dearie."

Folding his arms over his chest he wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear sending Tony a grimace and a little shake of the head, his uncle looking confused and annoyed at being left out of the loop. "So now what?"

"She'll have lunch with her dad today. They do it every year, and every year he makes her so upset she just…spirals. Last year she showed up on my doorstep a wreck and I promised her I'd be there for her each year on this date. Now look – I'm three states away."

"Mom, you can't save everyone. I'm here – Tony's here," Michael tossed out, his feelings a little hurt that despite how close they'd been getting over the last few days, Sydney apparently didn't think he could help her in the same ways she'd been helping him.

Emily smiled sweetly at her son's defensive tone. "Michael, you're not a mom. That's what she really needs."

They stood in silence for a moment before she spoke again. "Give her the day, but…but don't let her spend the night alone, okay?"

"I'll try – without her I rely on Tony. It's not like I have a car or anything."

Tony whispered, "I'm in – I'll help with whatever."

"Promise me, Michael, that you won't let her spend the night alone."

"I won't mom."

She nodded though she knew he couldn't see it. "I'll see you in a couple of days, okay? I love you guys."

Michael responded and hung up, a somber air hanging over his head. He filled Tony in seeing his uncle smack his forehead with his palm and recall that last year he had been particularly dependent on Emily around this time.

"Why doesn't she trust us? She could have stayed and explained, we would have understood."

Tony set a hand to his arm knowing his nephew hadn't wanted to use the word 'us' in his sentence. "Sydney is used to dealing with things on her own. I don't think it's a matter of trust, Mike. I honestly think that when hard stuff hits she has to run and find her own thoughts before she can ask anyone for help. She'll come around."

**…**

The knock echoed through the living room, Will sitting with his feet on the coffee table and a beer in hand as the hockey game played on the television. Francie stopped stirring the sauce in the kitchen before putting the lid on the pot and making her way to the door, hands wiping on the apron tied around her waist.

Surprise was etched into her features as she sent Michael a wide smile before pulling him into a hug. "Hey! Good to see you again; come on in!"

Entering the warm house they heard the timer on the oven beep, the young woman leaving his side in a hurry. "Sorry to barge in, I was just looking for Sydney."

"Oh, she's been out most of the day. It's a rough day for her, so we were just making a bunch of food and hoping she'd come home to eat some of it." Michael nodded knowingly, admitting that the date was his reason for wanting to check in with the young woman. "You're welcome to join us if you'd like. I know lunch with her dad got pushed back to later in the afternoon, so maybe she'll be home soon."

Will slapped the cushion on the sofa as Michael hobbled over and flopped down. "My god…this is the most comfortable couch on the planet," he groaned and sunk into the soft cushions. "Go Kings." He and Will shared a high five as Francie offered him a drink.

"I'd love a beer but, the pain meds I'm on don't mix well with alcohol. I'd end up sleeping for three days on this comfy-ass couch." Settling the glass of ice water in his hands he turned to see Will sending him a sideways glance.

"You look like you're dying to ask me something." Though they'd only met a couple of times, Michael liked the young reporter. Not only because he seemed to take pride in trying to get the proper information out to the public through his articles, but that he was also very protective of Sydney as one of her oldest friends.

Will glanced back over at Francie seeing her busy chopping in the kitchen. "Are you and Syd dating?"

Vaughn laughed and looked down at the water beading on the side of his glass, tracing a line in the condensation with his finger. "Not really, no. I did ask her out on a date but seeing as that was supposed to be tonight, it looks like it's getting rescheduled."

Will nodded and took a swig from his beer, turning back to the game. "You didn't leave your uncle sitting out in the car, did you?"

"Nah. I took a cab. I figured if she wasn't here I could get a cab back, but if she was she'd be able to drive my busted ass around."

After watching the rest of the hockey game, the three talking, Francie invited Michael to stay for dinner, Sydney having yet to show up at the apartment.

"Why don't I get outta here," he groaned and stood after another hour had passed, pulling the cane up as Will rose beside him and offered to give him a ride.

"Michael, before you go," Francie called out pausing mid-sentence as she made her way into the kitchen. The guys watched as she grabbed two unopened bottles of red wine and slid them into a fabric tote bag that had been hanging on the far wall. Moving to the freezer she pulled out a carton of coffee-flavored ice cream before bending down to disappear from view to open a lower cabinet. she reemerged with a bag of dark chocolate candies, and everything went into the bag she then carried over to Will.

"It's basically a Sydney Emergency Care Kit. You're gonna need it."

"But…if she comes here, won't  _ you _ be needing this?"

Francie scoffed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Please. She promised she'd be at your place while your mom was away. Sad, angry, or depressed, she wouldn't break a promise. While she's horrible at taking care of herself or asking for help in any way, she's great at taking care of everyone else."

…

Her phone dinged, Sydney tracing the photos in the album with a reverent finger as she ignored the sound for what felt like the hundredth time. The cool sea breeze whipped the loose strands of hair as they slipped from her tousled bun. The small photo album was usually kept in a shoebox in the very back of her storage container, but on this day it had made its way into her car and onto her lap as she sat in the sand wrapped in her hoodie, the beautiful scene of the beach stretching before her unseen in favor of photos in the family album.

The picture she was currently stuck on was from the night of the accident. She choked back a sob staring at the smiling face of her and her mother, Sydney donned in the brand newly pressed dress blues. Graduation had gone off without a hitch, and despite the fact that her father had been unable to attend her mother was proudly standing at her side as pictures were snapped by Will and Francie.

The rest of the evening slammed unbidden into her mind – the screeching tires, the smell of smoking rubber, the tinkering sound of shattered glass hitting the pavement.

Finally, the person that had been texting her had given up and called, the ringtone shrilly disrupting the quiet of the secluded beach. With an annoyed sob, she reached into the pocket of the sweater intending to turn the offending technology off when she stopped seeing the bright name 'EMILY CELL' on the screen.

Her thumb swiped to answer before she had a moment to think and she merely pressed the phone to her ear. She didn't – couldn't speak, so she just held a breath waiting for the calming voice she knew was coming.

"Sydney, dearie – are you okay?"

"I – I feel so lost, mom." Her straining watery voice made Emily's heart break, wishing she wasn't sitting miles away and was instead on the couch holding the young woman as she'd done last year when this day was new to her.

"I’m so sorry. What can I do?"

The brunette shook her head despite the fact that the faraway mother couldn't see it, and sniffled in an effort to calm down. "I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"Today. I f-forgot today."

Emily countered, "it doesn't much sound like you forgot today, dear."

They sat with no words for a few minutes, Emily hearing the occasional sniffle and sob from her earpiece as Sydney took comfort in the mother's occasional crooning.

"I'm sorry I'm not there with you, Sydney. Where are you?"

"I'm at the beach."

"Why aren't you home with Will and Francie? Or with Michael and Tony?" She tried to keep the scolding tone out of her voice, but it was difficult. She knew that Sydney's penchant for lone-wolfing through hard times was a defense mechanism created from necessity, but it still drove the mother crazy when the young woman would backslide after so much progress the last year.

"I just…wanted to be alone." She lied.

"Sydney, you've got to stop running when things get hard. You do such a wonderful job taking care of everyone else – why can't you just let us take care of you once and a while?"

Sydney couldn't help but squeak out a strained laugh as she looked up to the stars. "I'm sorry…I'm not very good at that."

"We love you, Sydney - even when you run off and worry everyone half to death. Please go home; either to the house or the apartment, it doesn't matter which. You've spent so much time alone, dearie – you don't have to anymore."

Another moment of quiet passed between the two, Sydney peeking at the screen of the phone to make sure they hadn't been disconnected. "I'll head home soon, I promise."

They shared a goodbye as the call ended, Sydney looking at the home screen and seeing a dozen or so missed text messages from Will, Francie, and a few from Michael. Skipping it all she pushed it back into her pocket and sighed, her eyes focusing on the moonlit waves ahead. Closing them she buried her face in her knees and tuned her ears to the calming sound of the waves washing up onto the shore.

An electronic buzzing noise bounced off the sand making her look up with a frown. Turning, she spotted an electric golf cart responsible for disturbing her peace, but rather than feel annoyed at the interruption she felt her stomach flutter as the crewman saluted and turned the cart around to head back to the outpost leaving the tall man standing in his pressed white uniform.

Jack looked up to her perch atop the dune with a soft smile and made his way up the loose sand to sit beside her. She turned surprised, sad eyes on her father and he couldn't help but reach out with a warm hand to cup her cheek and wipe at the wet trails with his thumb.

"I'm sorry I missed lunch, sweetheart. I…I wanted to call you myself but-"

Sure it had hurt like a thousand knives when his assistant had called to tell her he'd be unavailable to meet with her as if the boy knew anything about the importance of today's date, but she also understood that when the president's adviser asked for a meeting, her father couldn't have refused even if he wanted.

"It's okay, dad."

"No." His force made her heart jump. "Not today." He pulled his hand away and it landed on his lap to play with the brim of his immaculate hat.

They sat quietly for a few moments until she looked back over at him. "How did you know I was here?"

"Well, your roommates didn't know where you were, and neither did Mr. Vaughn. Once upon a time, you'd told me that you liked watching the helicopters take off at the base – but you weren't there." He paused and picked up a handful of sand letting it run through his fingers as he spoke. "You'd also mentioned enjoying the train station watching the people coming and going – you weren't there either."

He looked over at her with honest eyes, "and then I thought of this place and how I used to bring you here as a little girl. Sure enough – you've logged in dozens of hours over the years."

"You didn't really go to all of those places," she countered with a small voice as her eyes diverted back to the waves ahead, her chin resting on her knees.

Jack chuckled, "I did indeed. While…I know we don't have much else in common, this day is hard on both of us, Sydney."

He saw her slight nod as a tear slipped down his chiseled cheek. Since Sydney had come home from Iraq he'd desperately wanted to reconnect with his daughter. Her tours always set his heart and stomach in knots, and his assistant's crisp and typed daily report of Marine casualties and KIAs that didn't bear her name had added many a gray hair atop his head. None more, of course, than the report with her name at the top of the list. That was like a bucket of ice dumped on his soul, and he'd held his breath until he'd learned she'd just been a casualty and hadn't been killed in action.

"I didn't sleep well while you were gone," he admitted out loud. If he was going to close the gap between them, there was no time like the present.

"What?"

"When you were in Iraq," he explained. "I would get a list of Marine deployments from my assistant and every time your name appeared I couldn't sleep right until the date came and went for the end of your tour."

She stayed quiet, though the admission caused warmth to spread from her heart to her limbs.

"Equally terrifying were the daily reports of casualties and KIA's." He stopped a moment letting the quiet serene of the beach soothe the pair for a moment. "You were right when you said that I should have called instead of getting the information from your report, and you were right when you said I should have visited you in the hospital. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you, Sydney."

The raw emotion in his voice pressed against her heart as more tears, seemingly endless, traveled down familiar paths. "My heart nearly stopped when your name showed up on one of those damn lists. It felt like…like that night and…getting  _ that _ phone call."

"I'm sorry, dad."

He shook his head and looked over at her with a sad smile. "You were always amazing at everything you did, Sydney. I'm sorry I didn't tell you more often that I was proud of you. Had I been there that night, maybe she'd still be here with you."

"Or I could have killed you both."

"You have to stop saying that.  _ You _ didn't do anything. It was an  _ accident _ ." It was the same sentence he said yearly to her in a heartfelt attempt at assuaging her guilt. Every year she gave the same response, this time no different.

"I know." They sat for several long minutes as each broken soul let the sound of the water and whistling wind soothe them.

"Can I ask you something, dad?"

"Of course."

"When you were deployed, right after-", she swallowed the lump in her throat as it began to tighten, "why didn't you call? I mean…I knew you had been deployed and that the timing was shit, but…but you didn't call; not once…in six months. Why?"

Jack winced as he heaved a heavy sigh. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and with a small eye-roll she turned back to set her chin atop her knees and closed her eyes.

"You're so much like her, Sydney – even back then. When I looked at you I saw the same brown hair, the same brown eyes, and heard the same voice. I – I didn't know what to do; I only knew that every conversation with you was a wound-opening reminder of the woman I'd loved so much."

His honesty made her heart hurt and for the first time in a long time, she understood why and didn't hold it against him. "I get it," she mumbled and they spent another few moments in silence that wasn't awkward – another first.

"I'm sorry, dad – again…still."

"I've never once held you at fault, Sydney. You have to let this go, sweetheart."

"But _ I _ was driving the car," she sobbed.

Like every year previous, Jack didn't know what to do past repetition, which never seemed to work. His daughter seemed to have locked her guilt up over the accident tighter than Fort Knox, and he still hadn't managed to find the key.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart; I never should have put so much on you after the accident. I never should have left, and I'm sorry I didn't call after I volunteered."

His words made her frown and slowly turn her head. "What did you say?"

In an un-Admiral-like moment of fumbling insecurity, he faltered. "What I mean was that I shouldn't have left you the way I did."

"Y – you volunteered? You told me you had been deployed." Betrayal began to sink into her brown eyes, her chin quivering as she saw the guilt in his watery blue eyes.

Jack's heart sank as he gave away one of his last two closely-guarded secrets. "I…couldn't stay. Losing her almost killed me."

The father hadn't expected the strangled whisper that came from her lips, "you left…on purpose? You left  _ me _ … _ on purpose _ ?"

"Sydney-"

The slap echoed across the dune as the young woman's hand left four red lines across the admiral's cheek and a stunned look on his face. She struggled to her feet as harsh sobs tore from her chest. Sliding down the dune toward the car she felt his arm catch her and spin her to face him.

"Please wait," he asked in a rushed voice, though no words followed.

Ripping her arm from his hand she stumbled a few feet away before catching her balance using a hand on the hood of the Mustang. "I was nineteen years old! I – I had just killed my own mother and I had _no one_ _else_ – just **_you_**."

"I-" he started, stopping again as he couldn't find any words that would help the situation. "It was the wrong thing for me to do."

Choking out a bitter half-laugh mixed with a ragged sob she fought against the crying that was trying to bubble up from her lungs, the effort to keep the tears at bay and maintain her anger was beginning to feel like hands wrapped around her throat with the fingers squeezing tighter moment by moment.

"You lied to me. F-for  _ years _ . Y-you abandoned me." She repeated the words like a mantra in her mind, squeezing her eyes tight as tears were pushed out against their will. "You said you had to go. Y-you said you didn't want to – they were…they were deploying you. Y-you  _ lied _ …over and over again."

Her ragged breathing tore at his heart as he stood a few feet away unable to move or speak. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, you're  _ sorry _ ?! Well," she growled looking up at his tear-stained cheeks and cerulean eyes full of regret. Long moments passed of blue begging brown to try and listen - to try and understand.

"I don't… _ ever _ …want to see you again." The words were slow, whispered, and deliberate, a knife in his already punctured heart.

Through blurry eyes she made her way to the driver-side door and got in, the engine roaring and the man in white getting smaller in the rear-view mirror as she drove familiar paths through the dunes.

**…**

The house looked warm and inviting as the porch, driveway, and living room lights all shone brightly despite the fact that it was just after midnight. Turning the key and shutting off the engine, Sydney leaned back with a heavy sigh against the cool leather seat. Her cheeks were still wet and her eyes felt puffy and swollen, but she couldn't stop a few more tears from leaking out as she remembered back to the shocked and hurt face of her father on the beach.

_ 'I never thought anything could ruin that place.' _

Getting out with a grunt, her leg aching from the three-mile run she'd forced it through earlier in the day, she pushed the pain down and made her way up to the door. Finding it unlocked she walked into the warm living room, the quiet droning of some documentary on the television greeting her as she turned and clicked the lock.

"Hey," his quiet whisper made her smile despite how she felt, and she turned to see him sitting on the couch with a blanket covering his legs looking up at her with soft green eyes. "C'mere." Lifting the edge of the blanket in an invitation he waited for her to respond.

"I'm sorry ab-" she started only to have him interrupt.

"Don't be. C'mere," he ordered again, his arm still lifting the edge of the blanket. She looked down, tossing her keys on the end table along with her purse. Kicking off her shoe she moved forward and sat gingerly next to him before removing her prosthetic and sliding under his outstretched arm to curl against his side.

Michael pulled the blanket around her, his left arm resting against her hip as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head, feeling her breathe out a shuddering sigh. "I'm sorry, Sydney."

_ 'He must have talked with Emily today.' _

Sydney just stayed quiet and closed her eyes, a tear leaking out and rolling over the bridge of her nose before soaking into the soft cloth of his t-shirt. She reopened her eyes after a few minutes and took note of the two empty wine glasses sitting on the coffee table with a brand new bottle of unopened red wine. Beside those were scattered wrapped chocolates and a few crumpled wrappers indicating that he'd snacked on a couple before her arrival, and a tiny smile played on her lips.

"Is all that for me?" Her voice was a raspy whisper but he heard her, his laugh jostling her head.

"Francie sent me home with the Sydney Care Kit."

She curled farther into his warm side and tucked her legs under her body, "thanks."

Michael merely nodded and patted her elbow under the blanket, his left hand staying over her arm as the pair sat lost in their own thoughts. He desperately wanted to ask her to share with him what she was going through, but he also didn't want to be a burden and make her think of the things making her sad in the first place. Sydney wanted to just erase the whole day, or at least hide from it under the blanket.

His hip ached something fierce, especially since he was leaning on it at a weird angle since she sat next to him, and he wiggled a bit beside her in an effort to scooch down more on the soft cushion. She seemed to sense his discomfort and pulled away slightly, though he strengthened his grip around her with a shake of his head.

"You don't have to move, I'm just re-adjusting."

"It's okay," she mumbled and pulled away to sit up straight, though the blanket was still over her lap, and she propped her right leg up on the table alongside his as the left folded to hang off the edge of the cushion.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He saw her eyes staring ahead though they didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. The bags he saw under them and the red rims indicated she'd been pretty miserable all day, and his heart ached to make her feel better in any way possible.

"Yes and no," she grumbled with a raw and scratchy voice.

"Would coffee ice cream help?" She laughed, though it sounded a bit more like a cheery sob, and he saw a dimple depress her cheek. Making her smile made him feel a little better, and the silence they lapsed into was comfortable.

"You made me forget." He strained to hear her quiet whisper.

"What do you mean?"

Silent tears coursed down familiar trails and her head fell back to land on the padded sofa for a moment before she turned to look over at him. "Just being here; all the excitement of you being home – it made me forget about today."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" His question made her wince and her head righted to face forward before she closed her eyes, tears sliding down to the angle of her jaw.

"I'm not allowed to forget."

The silence between them was juxtaposed against the infomercial that had started playing, Michael leaning forward and grabbing the remote to mute the offender. Questions danced across his mind though he kept them at bay as he watched the pain flicker across her face, eyes closed but still leaking tears.

Sydney's voice dropped to a whisper and Vaughn was glad he'd muted the television as he never would have heard her over the din of whatever famous, chef-inspired Tupperware was flashing across the screen.

"It was my fault." Her chin quivered, her body leaning forward as she dropped her face into her hands pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw flashes and stars. "And he just…left." A sob pulled from her chest and she tried to hold it back with a shuddering intake of breath, though another followed closely behind.

His heart broke as she cried, and despite his protesting hip he turned sideways on the couch and pulled her into the circle of his body. Wrapping the blanket around her back he swaddled her in a cocoon and rocked back and forth slightly with his upper body. Her cries were muffled against his shoulder but she let out her sadness into his cotton shirt for several minutes before calming into sniffles. He leaned against the back of the couch finding a comfortable spot as she went limp in his arms, her breathing evening out save for the occasional hiccup against his throat.

A smile crossed his lips and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head before leaning his cheek against her temple and settling in.  _ 'No force on heaven or Earth could move me.' _

Around an hour passed when her breathing shifted, her hands that had once been limp around his waist lifting up to splay against his lower back. What he hadn't expected was for her to press a soft kiss to the side of his neck whispering, "thanks," as she sighed.

He nodded against her head but didn't move.

"Your hip must be killing you. How long have I been out?" Despite her concern she stayed put, her voice sounding sore as if she'd been screaming at a loud concert all night. Michael lifted his left hand from its spot perched on her hip and rubbed soothing circles over her back.

"Dunno. An hour maybe? I'm actually pretty comfy right now so I'm not looking to move. You've taken care of everyone else; it's your turn now."

He felt her smile against his shoulder as she pulled back a bit and looked up at him with sleepy brown eyes. "I'm sorry I missed our date," he smiled and shrugged.

She reached a hand up and traced a small scar to the left side of his chin with her fingernail before settling her palm flat over his chest, the steady thump soothing. "Do you think Tony was right?"

He saw the worry in her eyes but was more fascinated by the purple seeping into the brown at the center near her iris. "The only two people that should have an opinion on this whole damn thing are here right now."

"I won't be a distraction?" She joked, Michael laughing as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing at the freckles he just now noticed due to their proximity.

"You want me to be honest?"

"I always want you to be honest," she echoed his sentiment as her fingers ran patterns over his lower back.

"You're the distraction that I desperately need every moment of every day. The truth is…I don't know how to do any of this coping shit my therapist keeps drilling into me, and I have no say over when the next panic attack is gonna hit. But I haven't had a single one of them in two days and I think it's because you're here with me."

Sydney nodded in understanding seeing the uncertainty in his eyes and the wrinkles pop out on his forehead. "Well…I'll be your distraction if you'll be mine," she tentatively suggested, Michael smiling as the worry-lines disappeared.

Leaning forward he brushed his lips against hers as his left hand moved around to cup the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the loose bun she'd thrown together. Deepening the kiss he felt her tongue sweep softly against his lower lip before they broke, their foreheads pressed together as he rubbed the tip of her nose with his. Her breathy sigh made a bomb of lust drop low into his stomach and he swallowed against his suddenly dry throat before opening his eyes and seeing her flushed cheeks and closed lids.

Without either of them realizing his good arm had pulled her farther into the circle of his legs. Their lips met in the middle once more as the kiss deepened, a soft moan bubbling up from her chest as her hands slid up to rest palm-down against his chest, the two falling back against the cushions.

**…**


	15. While Mom Is Away - Day 3

“Seventy-four percent?! Didn’t they teach you how to shoot?” Will goaded the fresh new Marine as the machine in front of them flashed and the speakers crackled with boisterous sound, deer scattering on the pixelated screen away from the fake neon green reticle. ‘GAME OVER’ flashed in big red letters with the game logo fading into view: “DEER HUNTER 2”.

“Please - this shit’s not accurate! It’s nothing like a real gun!”

“Uh-huh - whatever. I’m sending you back, you failure.” Will scoffed pushing her shoulder. “Ppsht, you could have done better, you know.”

Slightly hurt she placed the plastic shotgun analog into the holder as they left the arcade area and moved into the bar where half a dozen people were drinking from the pitchers on the three tables under the blue, gold, and white streamers sporting the word ‘congratulations’ repeated in a sturdy thick font.

A haze settled over her vision as people’s faces began to get fuzzy. Rubbing her tired eyes she chalked it up to fatigue as the sound of the arcade, bar, pool table, darts, and karaoke over the speakers transformed slowly into a howling wind that whipped at her back.

Cracking her eyes open she blinked against the harsh sunlight and deep blue of a cloudless sky, empty dunes of tan sand spreading out before her in every direction. In the back of her mind she could still hear the bells and cheers of the arcade, though it sounded so far away. Turning to look behind her, drab tan tents covered in flecktarn were a contrast against the sand. In the distance behind the tents was another dune and a massive sandstorm, billowing plumes of detritus blasted into the sky by gusting, hurricane-like winds.

Heaving a sigh she looked down and gasped at the sight of blood-soaked sand and torn fabric as she sat on the edge of a small crater. Bits of flesh and bone lay in the charred dent making her panic as she pushed away from the scene, sliding backward and tumbling down the edge of the dune toward the tents below. Hitting the bottom she felt a dull thump of pain in her leg, but reaching down found it was right where it should be, the fabric untorn. Hands to her knees she bent down and sucked in a few deep breaths before hearing the beeping of a heart monitor coming from the tent to her right.

Moving forward she pushed the flap open and what was seemingly abandoned was suddenly a scene of chaos. A soldier lay on the table, the machines beeping frantically as two other medics rushed around with blood-spattered aprons covering their fatigues. White latex gloves were shoved into her open hands as she moved toward the wounded man on the medical cot.

“Doc - what do we do?” A nameless pair of eyes searched her face for answers as the cloth mouth guard and plastic safety glasses covered his distinguishing features.

“Umm…” pausing and looking down at her hands she slid the gloves on and made her way to the bed in the center of the tent. The young man was peppered with bleeding holes, his shirt removed before she arrived. Rivulets of blood cascaded like rivers down his chest and abdomen onto the floor, but she couldn’t clear her mind. “I...I don’t know what to do.”

Hands accompanied by angry voices pushed her roughly out of the tent, the flap opening to the California night sky as street lights flashed by quickly. Looking down, gone were the latex gloves; looking around, gone were the tents and sand. Asphalt replaced her view as yellow dashes skipped by to her left on the other side of a tinted glass window.

Far away a deep barreling horn was sounding. Looking into the back of the vehicle she saw the overturned insides of a helicopter with the crates scattered behind the camo net, shells littering the floor, and a body covered by a bloodied blanket leaned unmoving against the crumpled metal of the aircraft.

The horn got louder.

Sydney looked to her right as her father sat in the passenger seat wearing his crisp, white, immaculate Naval uniform. His eyes looked forward as if he didn’t know she was there, and try as she might she was unable to speak to him. The words, “dad” - “Admiral” - “Jack”, got caught as if her tongue had forgotten how to form the syllables.

The horn got louder.

She faced forward and saw for the first time the steering wheel in her hands. Two bright beams of light blasted into her face, momentarily blinding her. A hand grabbed her shoulder from her right startling her and causing her to pull away, the vehicle veering slightly to the left. The hand grabbing her shoulder was not her father’s. It was thin and graceful - a soft hand that had beautifully painted blue fingernails with white ends. A platinum wedding band graced the fourth finger as the fabric of Sydney’s shirt bunched between her knuckles.

“SYDNEY!” a voice cried as an explosion shattered the windshield into pieces, the fragments shooting toward her fast and slow at the same time. They pierced her body moving through her stomach and chest shredding the skin, a tightness to her stomach causing her to suck in a deep gasp and bolt upright.

Looking down at herself her hands pressed against the bloodied flesh she saw through tear-filled, blinking eyes, though the soft cotton of a camisole slowly replaced shredded skin as illumination began warding off the darkness.

The horn was gone.

An orange hue swirled into focus as it chased away shadows from the corners of her vision. She felt a hand on her shoulder and panicked, swatting it and crawling away until a wooden headboard stopped her movement with a dull thud.

“Sydney, it’s okay.” A masculine voice sounded close but was one she couldn’t quite recognize. It wasn’t her father. Hadn’t he been just there sitting next to her? “It’s okay,” it repeated.

The swirling darkness was almost gone but she couldn’t unsee the manicured hand reaching for her, the softness of a feminine voice fading away whispering her name. She pulled her legs to her chest, one cooperating while the other refused and sunk back into the soft sheets. Frustrated, she looked down seeing the flat, rumpled cloth devoid of any structure below and the image of the bloodied stump and crater slammed unbidden into her mind forcing her to close her eyes so tight stars edged in at each side.

“Sydney, everything is okay.” The voice was back and it was starting to sound more familiar. It was gentle and caring, though hard to hear past the violent thumping of her heart in her chest and blood in her ears. “Can you take a deep breath with me?”

“No.” The strangled word came from her throat.

“Yes, you can. Do it.”

She didn’t open her eyes but acquiesced and drew in a quaking breath.

“Good. Can you take another?”

She breathed again.

“Longer. Take a deeper breath.”

The voice was getting closer. She followed his directions.

“Another.”

Her eyes were still closed, her hands still clutching at the cotton fabric of her top as they shook; she took another breath.

_Michael. That’s the voice. Of course that’s his voice...how could I forget?’_

She opened her eyes seeing him seated on the edge of the bed as panicked brown met understanding green. “Vaughn.”

“I’m right here. Keep breathing.”

She leaned her head back with a thump against the headboard as another half sobbing breath filled her lungs. Tears fell down her cheeks as Michael reached up and wiped them away with his fingertips, his hand moving around to the back of her neck and pulling her into his body with a strong arm. Heavy arms moved up and clutched at the white cotton of his shirt as she sniffled and panted against his shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how many minutes passed until he felt her heart slow down and heard her breathing regulate. Despite the screaming of his aching hip, he held her. When she pulled back was the only time he loosened his arms, surprised when her red-rimmed eyes met his and her hands cradled his cheeks.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pressing her forehead against his and closing her eyes. “I...just - thank you.” He left his hand and forearm were on her waist letting her dictate what she needed from him. Tilting slightly he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, moving slightly to the left to place another against her temple before moving to her cheek beside her ear.

“I’ll always be right here. I promise.”

She finally pulled away enough to look around the room and saw that sunrise was the cause of the orange hue as it intensified to a shining yellow splashing against the walls. He let her sit in silence for several minutes gazing out the window, his fingers making their way between hers in the hands on her lap.

“We’re gonna need all the coffee in the world today,” she mumbled and regarded him with a small smile, her signal that she was alright. Michael laughed and lifted her hand up to press a kiss against the side of her thumb.

“Let’s go get it started.” Groaning he stood tall and stretched his arms up over his head, his back and shoulders popping.

They moved down into the kitchen keeping some form of contact with one another the entire trip, the brewing black liquid filling the small space with a comforting aroma. Vaughn hopped up onto the counter to wait for enough to fill their cups, pulling her between his legs. His hand and stump rested against her hips as hers found a spot over each shoulder blade. She pressed her ear to his sternum taking comfort in the rhythmic thumping of his heart, closing her eyes and letting it soothe her soul.

“Do...do you remember your nightmares after you wake up?” Though the question was asked quietly, it boomed in her ear.

“Bits and pieces. I - I remember enough, I suppose.” 

Michael nodded. “I don’t really ever remember more than a detail here or there, but I can’t forget the dread. Or...or the feeling of helplessness, you know?”

Sydney agreed as the pot of coffee brewed, gurgling in the quiet moment. Deciding to curl up on the couch in nearly the same position as the night before the coffee did nothing to keep the pair awake. They passed back out with her tucked against his side, nose against his throat as his arm wrapped around her, his cheek against the top of her head.

That was how Tony found them when he unlocked the door later that morning, a crooked smile gracing his lips and his thumb snapping a picture on his cell. He strode into the kitchen and left a note, making up an excuse of a friend needing help moving the next couple of days, but to call if they needed him. Leaving as quickly as he came he sat in the driveway and opened the messaging app on his phone.

_You: I owe you $20. (Photo attached)_

Setting the phone next to him on the passenger side seat he backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. Stopping at the sign on the corner his phone buzzed and pulled his attention.

_Emily Cell: I told you so._

_You: How’d you time it?_

_Emily Cell: Please. A funeral doesn’t take three days._

_You: Sly._

_Emily Cell: They’re good for each other. She’s already my daughter...might as well make it official._

_You: Do you already have the venue picked out?_

_Emily Cell: Ha ha. See you tomorrow. Don’t let them forget to pick me up, and give them space. They don’t need you hanging around._

_You: don’t tell me what to do. Your not my mom._

_Emily Cell: you’re*_

**...**

A twinge of pain pulled Michael from slumber. Realizing he’d have to completely untangle and climb over her to get up, he weighed his options.

“I can feel you wiggling around. If you tilt left you’ll take the edge off,” her voice mumbled up from his shoulder groggy and filled with sleep. He obeyed and was happy that it did help, though the throbbing he knew wouldn’t go away without a painkiller.

“I’ll grab you something. Ibuprofen or something stronger?”

“Stronger; thanks, Syd.” She extracted herself from the couch and stretched her back, a pop sounding as she moved off to the kitchen.

“Want some breakfast?” She called.

Michael shrugged, though he knew she couldn’t see it. “I probably should if I’m gonna take a Vicodin.”

There was a pause from the kitchen and he heard several cabinets open and close followed by her sigh, “I do love cereal,” he tossed out, Sydney laughing in response. Pouring two bowls and two glasses of juice, she grabbed a tray and loaded it up before heading back.

Vaughn was lazily flipping through the channels on the television, pausing for a moment on National Geographic as a nature documentary flashed by. He stopped and left it to play as they munched on the cereal. A commercial flashed for an upcoming military program, the voice unnecessarily dramatic.

_“When a soldier falls in battle, an elite Air Force unit races to the rescue, no matter the risk; so that others may live. Join the PJ’s of Inside Combat Rescue at 10/9 Central, here on NatGeo.”_

“Those guys are crazy.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael looked over as she nodded with a wistful smile on her face.

“Yeah. I flew with them to do specialized training for a week during my second tour. I mean, Iraq was crazy, sure, but Afghanistan near Kandahar was…insane. Though on the flip side, it’s a really beautiful place, war aside.” She moved to set the empty bowl down on the coffee table.

“I drove through Kandahar my first tour, but we didn’t stick around and it was woefully uneventful from what I remember. My first and second tours were in Afghanistan, kinda all over the place. The longest we sat still was when we spent two months in the Helmand Valley.”

“Yikes, Helmand.” His response was a shrug. “No good stories?”

“Oh yeah. I mean…Hell's Highway, right?” There was a moment of silent reflection between the two, Michael continuing, “that was back when we were still doing the whole ‘hearts and minds’ thing along with ‘kill all the bad guys’. It didn’t always mesh, you know?”

Sydney nodded knowingly she popped off her prosthetic and folded her legs up on the couch to get comfortable. “My week with Pararescue was 80% civilian casualties - mostly IEDs.”

Michael grimaced. “Fucking IEDs. I got so _sick_ of seeing people hit by mines. We lost like eight guys from our platoon in a month either KIA or maimed and sent home.”

“I could put a tourniquet on in my sleep after the first week on my first tour.”

“Why’d you go into medical?” Taking a pause from the storytelling he decided to try and get to know her better. She sent a half-smile that didn’t quite go to her eyes and looked down into her lap where her fingers fidgeted between one another.

“My mom was a doctor and my dad was Navy. I just assumed I’d do one or the other, but my mom encouraged me to do both.” She laughed at a memory. “We stayed up till probably 2:00 a.m. the night I told her I’d enlisted planning my career path. Did you join because of your dad and uncles?”

“Pretty much. Family tradition, I guess. Why didn’t you go Navy?”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “I never would’ve gotten out from under the protective umbrella of my father. At least he couldn’t control my deployments if I was a Marine, you know? He said he would have made sure I never saw combat - spent my military career on some paradisiacal island.” She shrugged. “It’s just not what I wanted.”

Vaughn laughed and reached over, grabbing and wiggling the metal end of the prosthetic attachment point embedded in the top end of her tibia. “Though in hindsight, that doesn’t really sound like a bad thing does it?”

They shared a chuckle as an alarm went off on her phone, a panicked look crossing both faces as they realized they were supposed to be at the airport to pick Emily up in 20 minutes.

“You go. With my hip today I don’t think I can sit in the car.” Admitting with a frown he stayed put, Sydney nodding as she popped on her leg and hopped up. 

Grabbing her hoodie from the living room chair, her wallet from her purse, and the keys off the end table, she leaned over Vaughn with a smile as their lips met for a brief kiss before heading out to the garage and jumping into Emily’s sedan.

The usual weird feeling settled low in his stomach when his brain reminded him that he was alone - that no one else was there. Turning the television up he tried to distract himself with something - anything - but it wasn’t working. 

His bout of panic was interrupted by a knock on the door, and he couldn’t help but jump as his pulse shot up with the sudden noise. Grabbing the cane he made his way over, opening to see the perfect white uniform and stern face of Sydney’s father. Despite the fact that he didn’t care what the man thought about him, and knowing that the intimidating figure knew nothing about the relationship they had started about twelve hours ago, he still felt underdressed as he stood in a t-shirt and pair of long, plaid pajama pants.

“Mr. Vaughn,” Jack spoke clearly and stood tall when addressing the young man.

“Sir. Sydney isn’t here if you’re looking for her.” From what he knew, and what his mother and Tony told him, he didn’t have the highest regard for Jack Bristow. Anyone that could just push Sydney out of their life wasn’t someone he really cared to know. But their interactions had been limited to the father dropping by yesterday looking for his daughter and the moment before him now.

“I’m not here to see my daughter.” His voice was terse and Michael thought that he saw a moment of sadness pass the steely blue eyes of the Admiral. 

“Why not? You do know that...that how you treat her drives everyone that loves her crazy, right?” He couldn’t help himself.

For a millisecond Jack was thrown off guard by the forwardness of the question, but his eyes darkened as he meticulously constructed his reply. “I read your report, Captain. I was...impressed.”

Vaughn felt as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs. “What? Why would you do that?”

“If you’re looking for my approval or the equivalent, Mr. Vaughn, let me make something abundantly clear to you. My daughter doesn’t give a damn about my approval of those she chooses to spend her life with. Much like I’ve read every article that Mr. Tippin has published, every review of Ms. Calfo’s restaurant, the teaching history of Emily Vaughn, and the service records of Lance Corporal Anthony Vaughn, yes, Captain: I read your report.”

Michael looked at his feet for a moment while leaning on his cane, a weight pressing into his shoulders that hadn’t been there in weeks. “Y-you didn’t...have a right to do that.”

“Many things are within my rights, Mr. Vaughn, please do keep that in mind. It’s better that Sydney isn’t here, I just needed to drop something off.” _‘And if she didn’t want anything to do with me before, she certainly won’t want anything to do with me after today.’_

What Jack wasn’t expecting was an invitation into the warm Vaughn household. “If...if you’d like to come in and wait, Sydney - she’ll be home within the hour.”

“My daughter made our relationship clear last night. I’ve no intention of waiting for her to return or taking up your time. Here,” he spoke robotically, his hands stretching out and offering a large photo album to the young Marine he’d shrunken on the porch of his own home. “She left this behind last night and I know it would devastate her to find it missing.” 

Seeing the hesitation in Michael’s eyes Jack realized he couldn’t just grab the book from his hands, and he felt a twinge of remorse for how he was acting. Being distant and pushing away Sydney and those around her had become almost routine - but before him stood an honorable man, and Jack had been unable to push aside the need to overrun said man with his own ego. 

Vaughn stuck the cane under his left arm and took the album, tucking that under his right arm before settling back over his cane. Looking up from his task he saw that Jack Bristow was almost to the middle of the yard as he walked away. Turning and kicking the cracked open door with his foot, a stern yet lighter voice made him turn back.

“By the way, Mr. Vaughn,” Jack called out, Michael refocusing his attention on the Admiral. “Not that it matters to Sydney, or that I’ll have a chance outside of this afternoon to call you this, but I’d be honored to have you as my son in law. I wasn’t being facetious when I said I was impressed by your report.” Standing up straight and giving a proper salute Jack turned without waiting for a response and stepped into the back of the intimidating black sedan, the Navy seal on the passenger side door shining in the afternoon light.

Michael’s eyes were glued to the vehicle as it moved down the street and disappeared around the corner, only then did he move back into the warm house. He stood in the foyer with emotions swirling through him. Equal amounts of anger and betrayal shared space with shame and fear. The tiniest fraction of pride tried to poke its way to the forefront, but it wasn’t having much luck. 

Turning his focus to the item under his arm, he leaned against the side of the couch and set his cane down before cracking open the cover of the album as curiosity got the best of him. It was upside down, the end at the front, and the last picture taped hastily in was Sydney in her dress blues, hat tucked under her arm, a glowing smile on her face as a woman that looked so much like her stood with her arm around the new Marine’s back.

A sense of guilt washed over him, and he quickly closed the book and lifted his cane before moving across the room and setting it down on the mantle, fatigue slumping his shoulders. Turning back toward the couch flopped back down on the soft cushions. He lay for fifteen solid minutes replaying the moment between Jack Bristow and himself wondering if he could or should have done anything differently. Wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t engaged the older man, or if it all was moot and the Admiral would have attempted to claim the upper hand anyway, the television droned on as his eyes drifted shut.

**…**

“Oh dearie, it’s so good to be home!” Emily tossed her arms around Sydney’s waist as the young woman pulled her into an equally fierce hug. Holding the mother-figure close Sydney could almost feel the tension and sorrow of the last day and a half begin to melt away.

“Excuse me, ladies, but you’ll have to hurry along.” One of the airport staff spoke up with a gentle voice, the two breaking apart with a laugh as the older wiped away a tear off the cheek of the younger.

As her bags were being loaded into the back Emily hopped into the passenger seat and buckled her belt, waiting with a tapping finger and a bubble of excitement in her stomach until Sydney joined her. Once the car was in motion, the silence not borne of discomfort, Emily patted the young woman on the arm.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday, sweetie.”

Sydney waved her off, though Emily could see a fresh sheen of tears in her eyes. Regaining her composure they hopped into the gridlocked traffic leading into Los Angeles while Emily shared with her the small family reunion in Colorado and the snowstorm that had blown in nearly freezing her to death.

“I’m not built for snow, Sydney. Not. At. All!”

“So wait - day one was the funeral, and then day two you spent at the house sorting through things before everyone else flew out. Why was there a day three?”

“Uh...well - I hadn’t been to Colorado in so long, I decided to pick up a hotel and visit the local museums! Denver’s growing so rapidly.” Emily bluffed, seeing a sideways glance from the driver.

“Uh-huh. You drove seventy or so miles, without a rental, in a snowstorm, from Colorado Springs to Denver for some museums?”

Emily pulled her glasses out of her purse pretending to busy herself with her cell phone. “They have ways to get around, Sydney - I didn’t have to drive. In fact - a cousin was going to Denver anyway and I rode with her.”

Sydney nodded, not believing a word the mother said but delighting in making her squirm. “So this didn’t have anything to do with asking me to stay at the house while you were away? Alone with Michael?”

“How could it? I couldn’t control the timing of the flights in and out.” Emily tossed flippantly.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

The passenger huffed, turning her head and attempting to look indignant. “Sydney, come now, what are you implying?”

“That you stayed away for an extra day so I would hook up with your son.”

Silence. Sydney’s eyes were on the road, but a tilting grin forced a dimple out on her right cheek. Emily spotted it and let out an exasperated laugh/sigh. “Was it that obvious? Did everyone see through it?”

“Probably not Tony,” she offered.

“You’re already my daughter, Sydney, and...and I just thought that - that you and Michael would, you know - maybe hit it off?”

Sydney left the conversation hanging as they pulled into the garage, hitting the button on the visor to close the door behind the vehicle. Hopping out to grab the bags from the trunk Emily threw her purse together and all but fell out of the car in her rush to continue the conversation.

“Sydney, I’m sorry - I just...why are you laughing?” 

“I’m just messing with you, mom. Just because it was an easy plan to see through doesn’t mean it didn’t work. But I get the feeling you knew that already,” the young woman moved to stand before the shorter elder. “Let’s get you inside and officially home - it’s been a crazy few days.”

**…**

Michael woke to a grumble from the kitchen table, the late evening light waning as the living room was mostly dark save for the single lamp shining in the corner. “Oooh! Damnit!”

He looked up to see his mother in the kitchen with her glasses low on her nose and her fingers holding something centimeters from her face. 

“Mom?”

“Oh hi, sweetie, you’re up. Could you help me with something?” She flopped whatever she was working on to the table and leaned back against the chair with a sigh. Michael hobbled into the kitchen with a wince as the last of his pain meds wore off, sitting across from his frustrated mother.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh I lost a button on this jacket and I want to sew it back on before I store it or I’ll never remember. I can’t get the darn thread through the needle!”

Vaughn chuckled, “I’m not gonna be much help, ma.” Holding up his left hand he wiggled his fingers while his right was just the stump.

“Oh honey, I’m...I -”

“Mom, it’s fine. Is - is Syd still here?” Michael tried not to look around too eagerly.

Emily confirmed with a whisper as she settled her glasses back over her nose and lifted the needle and thread once more, giving up after she couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Thankfully, Sydney rounded the corner rubbing a small towel against her wet hair, the camisole hugging her waist as her sleep pants hung dangerously low on her hips.

_‘How am I only now realizing that I live with my mother, I have a new relationship, and that we can’t just go to her place to be alone because she doesn’t really have a place either? Oh shit.’_

“What’s up?”

“Could you get this damned thread in for me?” Emily handed over the project, Sydney laughing in affirmation and tossing the towel onto the kitchen counter. Popping the thread in easily she handed it back to the mother who looked up with a frown. “Was it _that_ easy? Am I getting _that_ old?”

Laughing as she poured a glass of water and dropped a Vicodin on the table in front of Michael, he smiled sweetly realizing she remembered when his last pill was when he’d forgotten. “On a scale of one to ten of difficulty going up, for me, threading a needle is a one.”

“What the hell’s a ten?” Michael asked after he drank his pill down with a hearty glass of water.

“Medic stuff,” she grinned, sipping from her own glass.

“Like sewing up wounds?” Emily joined in though she usually refrained from asking for war specifics as it made her upset, which was why Sydney was being vague in the first place.

Deciding on the truth, “a ten is getting an IV into the arm of a kid in the back of a flying helicopter first try.”

There was a silence in the kitchen, Sydney turning and opening the fridge to see what they could make for dinner. “Did you do it?” Vaughn asked, a soft curious smile on his face.

“Do what?” Her voice echoed from inside the appliance.

“First try?”

“Yep.” _‘Actually, he crashed and bled out before I could get the needle in place and I was waved off so we wouldn’t waste the blood.’_ Unable to keep from finishing the story in her mind she looked back up from the fridge, Michael seeing her compartmentalize while Emily was oblivious finishing with the button. 

Dinner was simple, mostly because they didn’t have much in the house other than spaghetti and sauce, but no one complained. Emily went to bed early leaving the two on the couch to finish the movie they’d started. While they’d stayed on their own ends while Emily was in the room, it wasn’t long after mom had gone off to bed that Sydney sat up and shifted until she was tucked along Michael’s side at the edge of the couch. She used his right shoulder as a headrest while his left hand ran soft patterns down her arm.

“I was thinking that maybe I should get my own place,” she mumbled against the noise of the television. She felt him chuckle behind her.

“Yeah, I realized now that mom’s home we literally have zero places with any privacy.” 

They lay quietly for the next few minutes, Michael’s eyes crossing the room and settling on the photo album on the mantle. Not really knowing how to bring it up but unable to stamp down his curiosity, he decided to delve for more information about her life. 

“I have a question for you,” he started, stopping as if waiting for permission.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Last night, when you talked about your dad, you said it was your fault and he just left. What did you mean?”

“Vaughn, don’t,” she warned and shifted uncomfortably as the notion of sitting up and moving crossed her mind. She felt him tighten his arm around her waist.

“C’mon, Syd, I’m sorry – I just…I’m realizing that I don’t really know much about you. Yesterday was such an awful day for you, and then the night terror last night and - and I...I can’t help but want to make things better. Why does it seem like every interaction with your dad is just so...so hurtful? And what happened with your mom that just makes that day still so crippling?”

A pleading tone had risen his voice and he lowered it instantly back to a near whisper as the sound seemed abrasive over the quietness of the television which was currently being ignored.

“Please don’t ask me about it. Just…I mean – I’ve shared more with you in the last few days than anyone in the last few years, okay?”

“But you’ve hidden so much - you can trust me; you know you can trust me, right?” he countered, keeping his voice soft and unthreatening, yet prodding.

She sighed in frustration and succeeded in pulling out of his grip. She stayed sitting on the edge of the couch, her back pressed against his stomach contemplating hopping over to her leg against the other end of the sofa and running off to hide, but something stopped her.

Michael took the fact that she hadn’t left as a good sign. In his current state of hip pain he doubted he could keep her from leaving even if she didn’t snap on her leg – outrunning him by hopping was entirely feasible.

“I – I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice was watery, Vaughn feeling bad that he’d turned the night in a different direction so easily with a single question.

“Have you ever talked about it? To anyone?”

She didn’t reply and he winced while keeping himself on his side, though without her body against his, the muscles had to work to stay in place. “Ever?”

He saw the slight shake of her head but noticed the faint glisten of a tear on her cheek and decided that now wasn’t the right time to push. He let her regain her composure for a few minutes, the fingers of his left hand rubbing soothing patterns over the part of her back he could reach.

“What’s your favorite color?” his was his quietest whisper and it completely caught her off guard.

Sydney couldn’t help the strangled laugh as his 180 question stalled her out of the spiral back to emotional rock bottom. She wiped at her tears before threading her fingers through his left hand and pulling it onto her lap.

“Green,” she admitted, seeing him nod from the corner of her eye, Michael untwining their fingers and pulling at her arm to get her to lay back against him on the couch.

“That’s a good color,” he mumbled as his lips found her shoulder and placed a few soft kisses to her skin.

They lay in comfortable silence as time passed, Sydney’s eyes still fixed but not seeing the flashing movement of the screen as Vaughn’s stayed open to study the outline of her face from behind and slightly above.

“My dad hated the fact that I’d joined the Marines. He lectured me for probably...forty minutes in his office when I told him, and he made me stand at attention the entire time.” She rolled her eyes though he couldn’t see it.

“I did boot on the east coast and ended up finishing on the west coast, so I was exhausted by the time the graduation actually happened. I mean, I only had like three days of downtime before I had to go to medic field camp. Like I said, my mom was a doctor so I kinda always knew no matter what branch I went with that I’d end up being a medic – live up to both parents, you know?”

She paused for a few moments, Michael pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder in encouragement. 

“They threw a party for me, Will and Francie and my parents. It was at this place that’s long gone, but they had an arcade, go-karts, the whole deal. It was over an hour’s drive from the house, but worth it if you spent the whole day there. Of course, my dad bailed with some Naval excuse but my mom and I had a great time. Everything wrapped up at like, one in the morning, and the adults were all about six glasses of beer or wine too deep to drive. Being nineteen, I was the de facto designated driver, so I jumped into mom’s brand new coupe and we headed home.”

“It wasn’t raining; it wasn’t foggy…the roads were clear,” she swallowed against the lump rising in her throat, her voice getting watery as tears obscured the nothingness above her. “I just…I – I fell asleep.”

Now the picture was clear. Sure it would be bad enough to lose a parent just before starting your adult life, but to bear responsibility for it? Accident or not? Michael wasn’t sure that he would have fared much better in her shoes, even ten years later.

“And I – it – killed her.”

He pulled her closer feeling her grip his forearm as she clung to him for support. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled pressing light kisses to the side of her head, neck, and shoulder in succession between the empathetic apologies.

“It still hurts, some days worse than others obviously, and I…that’s why I’m not allowed to forget.”

“I get it.”

Sydney heaved a sigh, her free hand wiping at her cheeks as her face turned from hurt to both hurt and angry. “I went to the beach last night.” Vaughn smiled remembering how calming that place had been. “My dad actually found me. Apparently he’d gone to a bunch of places looking for me after he’d had to cancel lunch and finally thought of the beach.”

His smile disappeared as previously suppressed ire for her father surfaced. He definitely didn’t like Jack Bristow, and it didn’t seem like this conversation was going to bring the Admiral into a more favorable light. Especially not after their confrontation.

“For the first time in…forever – we didn’t fight. We didn’t argue. He – he told me how proud he was, _finally_ , and that he was sorry for the distance he’d put between us since…the accident. And I finally got to ask him something that’s just been eating me up inside for nearly ten years, and he was honest – for the first time in…nearly ten years.”

“What did you ask him?” 

She stayed quiet, Michael seeing the quiver of her chin and he let her pause before pressing another kiss to her shoulder. 

“I woke up in the hospital three or four days after the accident with a broken leg, sprained wrist, bump on the head…and my mom’s liver. The funeral had been pushed back until after I could get up and move around, Will and Francie helping me out thankfully, and it wasn’t until the day of the funeral that I actually saw my dad.” She heaved a shuddering sigh, “he looked so broken. I mean…I’m sure I wasn’t much better since I was literally broken, but I’d never…seen him unable to meet people’s eyes, or…or shake their hands.” 

She shook her head lightly turning and pressing her cheek against his forehead, Michael kissing her jaw as she continued. “He…the only thing he said to me that day was that he’d been deployed – that he was leaving in two days for Japan and he’d be there six months.”

Vaughn winced, “ouch.”

“He said there wasn’t anything he could do…that he’d – he’d tried to get them to postpone but...no success. So he left. For six months: nothing. Not a phone call, email, letter, fucking carrier pigeon – just silence.”

“Why?”

“That’s what I asked him. You know…his answer was solid: I was a wound-opening reminder of the wife he’d lost. I looked like her, sounded like her, talked like her, hell - part of her was inside me, and in that moment I wasn’t angry at him for any of it. I honestly couldn’t blame him; it made so much sense.”

She choked back a sob, “and it was a lie. It was all a lie.”

Pulling her in as tight as he could, he ignored the pain in his hip and he whispered apologies into her ear. “He…he volunteered.”

“Not deployed?” He felt the shake of her head and his hand ran circles over her arm.

“He said that losing her had almost killed him…that – that he couldn’t stay. So he left – he didn’t even…think about me or – or what it would do.” She turned away from him and into his shoulder, sobbing against the warm cotton of his shirt.

She dimly felt him rock back and forth for a little while before he stopped, Sydney realizing that the motion and their position likely killed his already aching hip. Pulling back with a sigh she propped her head on her hand and with the other pushed back with her hips against his. “You should lay flat against the back of the couch, your hip will ache less.”

Michael laughed and rolled his eyes, but obeyed her instruction. “You don’t think about yourself for very long, do you?”

“It’s not how I was trained,” she chuckled, happy for the change in subject. Heaving a sigh she pulled his hand up from her arm, kissing the side before tucking it against her chest. “Thanks for listening.”

“Thanks for sharing.” The movie ended and the DVD screen showed a still image with the play button highlighted. Sharing the quiet of the house together their eyes started to droop.

“We’re not going way too fast with this, are we?”

“Nothing about our lives has been slow - why start now? I’ve had almost two weeks to fall in love with you. Maybe that’s all it takes, huh?” He kissed the edge of her ear as they cuddled closed, Sydney falling asleep with a snore against his shoulder, Michael switching off the television and following suit.

**...**


	16. Family and Friends

“I’m terrible at this,” Emily groused as she tried to straighten the tie of the tan long-sleeved USMC button-up, Michael fidgeting as he stood as still as possible.

“I’m not going to get yelled at if it’s not straight, mom, it doesn’t have to be perfect.” He grinned looking down as she attempted to get the tie perfectly aligned, grumbling as it wound up too long.

The front door opened and closed downstairs, Emily exhaling. “Thank god - I’m sure she’ll rescue you.” Michael laughed as his mother grabbed the duffel bag with work-out clothes and he lifted his cane. The pair headed downstairs as Sydney walked back from the kitchen, a bottle of water in her hands as the feminine dress blues accentuated her figure.

“Drop and give me fifty for that tie, soldier. C’mere,” her order was complimented by a laugh as Michael obediently held still for the young woman to finish what his mom had started. 

“Do either of you know how long it’s been since I’ve tied a tie?” Emily watched as Sydney deftly fix the long fabric, leaving it hanging at the perfect length while also taking a moment to realign the medals pinned over the left breast. 

“There wasn’t a first-tour medic on my crew that could tie one - I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Loading into the Mustang they headed toward the large V.A. office, Michael’s psych appointment followed by his first physical therapy session, hence the accompanying duffle bag with extra clothes. It was a week before Christmas and just over a week since he and Sydney had started dating, and though he was excited to get into physical therapy three times a week, he was going to miss doing it each morning with her.

Sydney had her own therapy session, so they were carpooling. She parked and picked up the duffle from the back seat. “So I’ll go get mom after my appointment and then we can swing back and pick you up for lunch at Francie’s. Sound good?” Michael nodded. “We’ll probably go shopping while we wait. Do you want anything from the house?” He shook his head pressing a kiss to her cheek as they parted in the mental health offices, Vaughn greeting his psychologist and all but falling onto the soft padded chair with a wince.

“You seem to be a bit more mobile, Vaughn.” 

“Yeah, thanks, Dixon. Things feel a bit better. I start official PT today, so that should really get things moving. I’m sick of the cane.”

The doctor nodded and sat across from his patient, the ever-present yellow pad in his hands. “How are things at home?” The dark-skinned man didn’t miss the small smile that flitted across Vaughn’s face, his eyes narrowing curiously. “What was that little grin?”

“Oh...well - Sydney and I kinda started dating. Sort of,” stumbling over his words Michael hoped the larger man wouldn’t make too much out of his hesitation at sharing.

“Sort of?”

“It’s hard when I live with my mom and she lives with her best friends, but, we’re half on California time and half on Iraq time, so midnight seems to be the dating hour.”

The dark-skinned psychiatrist laughed, “well good, I’m glad. I think it’ll do you a world of good. Are the night terrors less frequent?”

Michael nodded, “yeah - two this last week. Pretty good compared to almost nightly the week before. But, I’ve been pretty distracted with being home, seeing family, getting ready for the holiday, you know.”

“And with Sydney. Relationships are a good distraction but don’t forget that it’s not our job to just be distracted. You can’t heal if you turn away each time a problem pops up.”

Vaughn sobered up a little as he acknowledged the man’s words. “Isn’t having fewer night terrors a good thing?”

“Well yes - mostly yes. It means your subconscious mind isn’t dwelling on the past as much as the present and future. So - yeah - good things. But don’t get complacent and stop with your mindfulness exercises.” The doctor stopped at the guilty look on the young soldier’s face, “get back to it.” The order was almost barked, Michael knowing it was going to come back up next week.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s been a busy week, but that’s no excuse.”

“It’s easy to get out of the habit quickly, especially since it’s something that’s so new, but trust me when I say that things can go bad real quick if you aren’t working on the mental as much as the physical. I know you’re frustrated with your mobility, the lack of freedom, and the hand - but that’ll all get fixed much quicker than your mind.”

The doctor jotted a few notes down and then sat back regarding his patient. “Tell me about that day - the firefight and what happened right after.”

Michael felt a bubble of something bounce about in his stomach. “Well...I mean - it started out like the other recon missions I’d been through in Iraq. That place kind of blends together after a while, unlike Afghanistan. We drove out, Alpha my team with Bravo bringing up the rear, and ran into the trouble just outside the city.”

“That’s where the ambush happened?”

Vaughn waffled a bit, “it wasn’t really an ambush, just a lucky shot that disabled our retreat with the vehicles. I mean, yeah they were waiting for us in the city but if that damn RPG hadn’t hit the rear Bravo humvee we probably wouldn’t be sitting here chatting right now.”

Dixon nodded and made a few notes on the yellow paper. “Tell me about the firefight.”

“Didn’t you read my report?”

“Of course I did - but if I wanted to talk to your report  _ you  _ wouldn’t be here,” the psychologist grinned wryly, Michael sighing and continuing.

“They hit us with rifles and small arms, some grenades. It must have been just one or two RPG launchers because they fired pretty erratically. I radioed for evac and we just hunkered down and let the .50 cal’s do their job.”

“After the chopper left with the first round of wounded - then what happened?”

Michael tripped a bit down memory lane, his recollection of the explosion that knocked him back followed by seeing the medic bleeding out in the dirt much more visceral than other times the moment was brought forward.  _ ‘Well you weren’t dating her at the time,’ _ his mind countered.

“We watched the chopper go and took up positions across the road behind the vehicles. I jumped up into one of the humvees and got on the .50 cal to at least make them think the group that was left was just as big as before the chopper took off.”

_ “Echo 1-1, be advised. Drone will have eyes on your position in thirty seconds. Say again, we will have eyes in thirty seconds.” _

_ “Eyes are gonna do us a fuck lot of good,” Espinoza hollered across the road to Jacobsen as the sniper crouched and fired his rifle behind the wreckage of an exploded car. _

_ “Home base, what’s the ETA on that Black Hawk?” _

_ “Hold, Echo 1-1.” The .50 caliber machine gun jammed, Vaughn abandoning it by climbing back in through the vehicle to hop out the back before bolting over to where Espinoza had taken cover. _

_ “Home base, this is Vaughn. I need to know if we have a clear entry point into that city.” _

_ The other Marines looked back and forth for a moment, unsure how the four of them were going to take on at least a couple dozen Taliban fighters. _

_ “Drone overhead now. I’ll get back to you, Vaughn.” _

_ “Wouldn’t it be better to stay here, Sarge Mage?” _

_ “We’re too exposed here. If we can get in and secure a building we can hole up and wait for reinforcements.” _

_ The radio crackled, Vaughn lowering his weapon and pushing the palm of his hand against his helmet to hear better. “Echo 1-1, report is coming in with activity on both buildings flanking the entrance. Your best bet would be to skirt around the brick wall to the west or east of the entrance.” _

_ “Get eyes on the north and east ends of the Shaykh. I need to know what those entrances look like.” _

_ “Copy; hold, Echo 1-1.” _

Marcus took several notes. “So you disagreed with the suggestion from the FOB?”

“It wasn’t that I disagreed so much as I had a better view. From above, I’m sure it looked like a viable solution. From where I was, crouched behind a busted-ass humvee, the guys on top of and in the highest windows of those multi-level buildings on the other side of that wall would have easily fucked us all. Fish in a barrel, sir.”

“With only four of you did you not think evasion was viable?”

Michael sighed. “Look, I know I fucked up, okay? I know that what I decided to do got my men captured, tortured, and mutilated.”

Dixon winced as he saw his patient begin to shrink back into the shell the doctor had only just begun to dismantle. “I didn’t mean it that way, I’m just clarifying, Vaughn - figuring out your mind in the moment. I’m trying to dismantle how you react to things and how things affect you to find the best way I can guide you back to where you need to be. This is one place you won’t get any blame, okay? For what it’s worth, I think it was a damn good call moving into the city, despite the outcome. I could see myself making the same decision.”

The young man calmed a bit, running his hand over his face.

“Let’s stop there. We can pick it up next week.” The rest of the time was spent doing a mindfulness exercise, Vaughn feeling calmer at the end though he still had guilt bubbling in his stomach creating a small wave of nausea. 

“Thanks, Dixon. I’ll see you next week.”

Moving from the offices to the physical therapy wing he ended up being about twenty minutes early. Taking ten minutes to change into workout clothes, the sweats and white shirt hanging loose over his frame, he sat heavily into a folding chair to wait for the trainer.

_ The four Marines gathered up behind the rear Alpha humvee. “Home Base has a drone looking at the north and east entrances of the city.” Lifting a rock into his hand he used it like chalk to draw on the metal door of the vehicle. “This outskirt bunch of buildings flanks east and west sides of this dirt road. This road takes you into the main marketplace of Shaykh. From there we turn north or east and exit the city where we’ll meet with the Black Hawk for evac.” _

_ “Wait we-” Paul jumped as a bullet zinged off the metal of the vehicle they were using as cover. “We just run through the city?” _

_ “We take Bessie,” Vaughn ordered as he slapped the rear door of the Humvee. “She’s got the only working .50 cal-” _

_ “We think.” Espinoza interrupted. _

_ “We think she has the only working .50 cal.” _

_ The radio crackled over his ear. “Echo 1-1, come in.” _

_ “Copy.” _

_ “Black Hawk is two minutes from take-off, eta ten minutes.” _

_ Vaughn poked his head out and looked to the gated entrance. The buildings flanking the road were still active with fire, though the RPGs were thankfully quiet. “Home Base, I need to know what you see at the north or east entrance, copy?” _

_ “Civilians; a couple of cars driving in and out. North has a herd of goats blocking the road. What are you thinking, Vaughn?” _

_ “We’re sitting ducks here, commander. We can’t go ten more minutes at this location. I’m loading up the humvee and we’re blasting through town. It sounds like the east entrance is our best bet.” _

_ “Hold, Echo 1-1.” _

_ The group held their breath as they stopped firing at the walls, each on pins and needles waiting for Home Base to respond. _

_ “I can’t advise this course of action, Vaughn. You were our recon. You’ll be going in blind.” _

_ Vaughn growled, “you said there was little to no insurgent activity in the northern and eastern parts of the city.” _

_ “The drone can’t see everything, Sergeant Major.” _

_ “We can’t stay out in the open, and we can’t go it on foot. Does command have an alternative suggestion?” _

_ The men again waited for an answer as they took turns firing at the buildings. Each time they poked out a new volley of gunfire erupted from the windows and the low wall littered with .50 caliber bullet holes. “The Black Hawk is eta 9 minutes - I recommend you wait for extraction.” _

_ Vaughn sighed and looked down at the ground, the smell of burned dirt, sweat, and blood filling his nostrils.  _

_ “It’s not a bad plan, Sarge Mage, going through the city.” Jacobsen met the eyes of his commanding officer as Vaughn weighed his options. A roaring whoosh made them all dive face-first into the gravel of the road as an RPG careened into the charred vehicle to their right, a bad shot by the insurgent translating to no casualties for the soldiers. _

_ Michael looked to the men left behind and nodded. “Home Base, please advise the Black Hawk to meet us due east of the east entrance. We’ll be the guys in the humvee hauling ass into the desert. Echo 1-1 out.” _

Physical therapy at the VA was nothing like exercises with Sydney. Though Marines are known for their tough ‘push-it’ attitude, Vaughn missed the moments where he would twinge in pain and she would pull back to give the muscles time to loosen before pushing back into it. His coach was not as accommodating. Sorer at the end than when he started he sat shivering in an ice bath for ten minutes after the coach had left him with a hard pat on the back and an over the shoulder,  _ “see you in two days”, _ Michael beginning to dread his next appointment.

Climbing out of the frigid water he hobbled back into the locker room and took a warm shower. Jumping into a pair of cargo pants and pulling on a spare t-shirt, he moved out to the hallway and turned left toward the entrance. Flopping into a seat outside a large empty room, from what he could see, he pulled out his cell and opened messenger. 

YOU: I need you to carry me home ;)

SYD: Aww…did the big bad PT coach beat you up?

YOU: Can I go back to having you as my coach?

SYD: It would put my Masters in physical and muscle therapy to use

YOU: ETA?

SYD: we’re oscar mike. eta 30 minutes

YOU: copy

He couldn’t erase the smile from his face as he slipped the phone into his pocket. Leaning back he felt the wall flatten the lengthening hair at the back of his head as he closed his eyes, regretting for the tenth time in the last ten minutes that he’d left the pain pills in the glove box of the car. 

A warm, wet tongue licked his hand making him gasp and jump to the right nearly toppling the chair. To his left sat a dog, a brown labrador, with a scar running diagonally over its left eye sealing the top and bottom over the missing organ. The right eye was bright and shining, a light blue in contrast to the dog’s chocolate coloring. Relaxing from the sudden shock Michael grinned and scratched the pup on the head getting a good look at a massive scar puckering the flesh to the left of its ribcage, the limb missing just like the eye.

A collar hung from the neck, Michael lifting it and seeing the name ‘Molly’ on the tag. “Well aren’t you a good girl?” Vaughn crooned at the dog while looking around the hallway but not seeing a handler. She was clearly a war dog, or at least had been, the camouflaged collar fitted with a thick metal hoop connected to a leash dragging on the floor.

The dog whined a bit and nudged her nose against his hand, and Michael obliged by scratching his fingers under her chin before moving up over her head to her soft, floppy ears. She panted and closed her remaining eye as her jowls formed something that looked like a goofy smile. 

“We should figure out where you’re supposed to be, Molly.” Moving to stand he reached for the cane, though it got bumped with the movement of the chair and clattered to the floor. The sudden noise startled the dog and she jumped back with her ears and head lowered, tail between her legs. “I’m sorry, girl. Loud sounds freak you out too, huh?” Kneeling with great effort, he held out his hand as she slowly relaxed her tense muscles and sniffed cautiously at his fingers before giving them a tentative lick.

Molly sat back on her haunches as Michael leaned on the chair trying to stand back up. Concentrating on not putting too much pressure on his sore hip, he found a way to lean against the wall and use his shoulder as leverage to get his good leg under his frame. Though it felt like a noodle after PT, it held and he was back to his feet. Turning eyes on the dog he found her with his cane in her mouth waiting patiently for him to take it from her. 

“Good girl. Grab that,” he softly ordered, the dog picking up the end of her own leash and turning to lead the way across the hall into the large room. A pair of soldiers in camo were packing things into boxes, one turning and seeing him walk into the room with Molly slowly staying by his side. “I think you lost one,” he called out leaning heavily on his cane.

“Oh, god - I’m so sorry. She...didn’t bite you, did she?” One of the handlers rushed over, a young woman in her mid-twenties. 

Vaughn shot her a confused look before glancing down at the obedient dog at his side, Molly once again sitting on her haunches and looking up at him for a command. “Uh, this dog? I mean...she licked me a couple times, but I don’t think she  _ could  _ bite someone. She doesn’t seem to have a mean bone in her body.”

Another handler came over with a clipboard in his hands. “Molly hasn’t been adopted at the last four events we’ve held. She’s far too skittish to let anyone approach and has a tendency to bite when she’s nervous.”

“Does  _ she _ know this?” Michael grinned pointing down to the dog, her response to lick his finger.

The handlers shared surprised looks back and forth. “Man, you must remind her of her handler or something because I’ve  _ never _ seen her this calm with a stranger. It took me three weeks to be able to put her leash on. She normally just hides in the back of her kennel and snaps if you reach in.”

“What’s her story?”

“She was flown back from Iraq three months ago, a bomb sniffer. She and her handler located over eighty IED’s just north of Baghdad along their route. They were embedded with a recon unit that got ambushed, the handler killed in the first volley as the rest of the team scattered for cover. The sergeant that brought her back to the FOB for surgery said that she climbed over her handler’s body when he fell and barked for help like they’re trained. When none came, she tried to drag him away by his pack. She took five or six rounds before the sergeant ran out and carried her back to the group. One round hit the eye exiting just to the side of the orbit, three going into the leg and shoulder, another hitting her sternum. The damn thing’s lucky as hell to be alive. She’s one of our favorites.”

Vaughn looked down with impressed eyes as the dog sat with her leash in her mouth ready to go for another walk. He chuckled and patted her head. “Good job, kid.”

“Yeah - we usually adopt them to their handlers but if that’s not possible, for whatever reason, we first try to give them a home with another armed service member. You know, someone they can relate to. They’re bred for this, so we’re the only kind of people they really know. The vet says she’s got some severe p.t.s.d., so we’re looking for someone that can be patient with her as she figures out her place.”

“So, you said she’s up for adoption?”

**…**

Emily pulled up and parked at the curb with the hazards flashing in the larger sedan. “You go get him, I’ll wait here.” Sydney nodded and made her way into the building spotting Michael standing and talking with someone to the left of the hallway. A three-legged dog sat between them, the young woman approaching with a smile and a soft voice. 

“Aww, you made friends.” Crouching and holding her hand out to the pup, the handler was about to warn about bites when Molly hopped up and down on her good leg in an attempt to lick at Sydney’s face.

Michael finished with the clipboard and smiled down at the two, Molly licking Sydney’s fingers as they looked back up at him. “Ready for lunch?”

“Does Francie allow dogs in her restaurant?”

“Why?” She looked around seeing the handler gone and the dog seated by Vaughn’s leg looking up for orders. “What...you - you got a dog? You just - you just decided to adopt a dog?”

“Do you think mom will be mad? Are you mad?”

Sydney took the moment of surprise for observation. Michael stood crooked in an attempt at keeping too much weight off his left side, his cane leaning against the wall next to his duffle bag while his fingers skimmed the fur at the top of the dogs head. She couldn’t help the smile that popped out, stepping forward and pulling him in for a quick kiss. Lifting his cane and placing it into his hand she bent down and picked up the leash attached to the dog's service vest, the name Molly sewn into the fabric behind her neck.

“I’m sure Molly will fit right in,” she smiled, tucking her arm into the crook of his right elbow as they made their way out to the car.

**…**


	17. The Fog of War

The overcast day set a gloom around the neighborhood, though palm trees wrapped with shining blinking lights tried to chase the clouds away. It was two days after Christmas and the house still smelled like a home-cooked meal, Sydney and Emily busy packing up the decorations that seemed to adorn every nook and cranny of the property inside and out.

“I walked these from the porch to the kitchen - how the hell did they get so tangled?!” Seated with a twisted pile of lights strewn across the table, her lap, and the floor, Sydney desperately tried to find the spot to loosen that would keep the rest from tangling irreversibly. 

The front door opened, Molly jumping up with a whining bark from her spot under the kitchen table, a spot Sydney had sent her to when she was underfoot every two seconds, and bounced her way into the living room to greet Michael and Tony as they came in. 

“Hi, honey! How did it go?” Emily yelled from the kitchen not making an appearance as she packed some of the wreaths and other hanging floral and pine decorations draped over the cabinets and countertops.

“Good - it’s getting easier. Well...not easier. I’m less tired and it’s less painful.” The younger of the two flopped onto the couch as the dog jumped up and licked at his face, his arms pulling her in for a wrestling hug. 

Tony patted the pup on the head and moved into the kitchen. “You’re pale, you feel okay?” Sydney pointed out looking up from the tangled lights at the man seated across from her. He waved her off and changed the subject. 

“I thought maybe we could grill tonight. I can pick up Dave and get some steaks. I don’t think I can do ham and stuffing another day in a row.”

“I’m in,” Michael hollered from the living room. Tony picked up the knotted lights, pulling one end through the loop and effectively untangling the lot.

“There ya go,” he mumbled with a grin, Sydney chuckling and sliding them toward him. 

“You’ve just won yourself a string of lights. I’m gonna go pack breakables.” 

“Oh no - I’m gonna go get Dave and then shop for steaks.”

“It’s two in the afternoon - dinner isn’t for at  _ least _ four hours. Do you know how hard it is to climb a ladder with a robot leg and unhook decorative lights? I still have the front to do and the back took me an hour and a half!”

Tony shrugged. “We have guy things to do. Plus, I don’t want to and you can’t make me.”

Emily and Sydney mirrored each other without knowing, each with a hand on their hip and a cynical look on their face. Tony rolled his eyes and relented. “Okay, alright, fine. I’ll do the lights.”

“And drink some water. You’re dehydrated,” Sydney ordered picking up a plastic tub filled with fragments of paper towels and toilet paper prepped to go back around the fragile figurines for storage moving into the living room.

“You could go get Dave and  _ both _ do the lights,” Michael offered as he rose, giving Sydney a kiss before moving into the kitchen and pulling his mother in for a hug.

“He’ll hate that. That’s a great idea.”

They all shared a laugh as the uncle left, Michael helping at the table to wrap glass and ceramic ornaments ferried by Sydney until his hip throbbed too much to keep sitting in a chair. Emily finished packing up the decorations in the kitchen and glanced over at the clock. “Well, Dave and Tony will finish the lights, you guys finish the other stuff. I’m going to go play cards with the girls and be home in a few hours to make some potato salad to go with the steaks tonight.” Flitting about the kitchen she put stuff away behind her before moving into the living room grabbing her purse and a light coat. “Don’t break my ornaments, you two,” she ordered with a pointed finger as she closed the door between the house and garage and fired up the car.

“Do you think mom will ever get better at being subtle?” Vaughn’s question was directed at the young woman across the kitchen from him as he leaned against the counter and set down a small painted ceramic Santa Claus. They were like magnets as he pulled her into the circle of his arms, his mouth cutting off her chuckled response. Her fingers spread across his chest as his left hand splayed against her lower back, their tongues caressing languidly. 

Their mouths separated and they stood to breathe each other in with foreheads pressed together. “I’d love a massage,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing several wet kisses to her shoulder and neck. She sighed with a smile and a soft nod, pulling away slowly before grabbing his hand and leading the way to the stairs. He winced and leaned against the wall at the top, her free hand on her hip in a chiding pose.

“You’re getting too cocky leaving your cane lying around. Two weeks of physical therapy doesn’t mean you are done with it.”

“I know, I know,” he grumbled, standing upright. “It’s just sore after PT.”

Her dimples flashed and he felt his boxers tighten at the purple hue seeping into the brown of her irises. “And yet you want a massage?”

“I’ll never  _ not _ want a massage, Sydney.” He all but pushed her into his bedroom, his one good hand lifting the shirt above his head and tossing it to the floor. “I could be on fire and would still want a massage.”

Though yes, a massage from Sydney usually resulted in sex which aggravated his hip, it also loosened the muscles of his lower back and kept his leg from throbbing and waking him up at night. It also meant he could just sleep with some Tylenol PM and not need heavier meds. It had been a few days since they’d had a moment alone, Michael smiling as he thought back to the entire Saturday together at Sydney’s apartment: an unusual period of alone-time with Will and Francie out of town for a conference in San Diego the restaurant-owner was attending. Sure he couldn’t walk the next day, but he also didn’t care.

While Emily wasn’t subtle when giving the couple moments alone here and there, it was nonetheless appreciated even if they didn’t tell her that outright. Kicking the sweats and boxers off he flopped face down onto the rumpled blankets with his backside cooling in the air. She moved into his bathroom and grabbed the essential oils she kept in the medicine cabinet before making her way over to the nightstand to set things down.

With his face pressed into his blanket his ears were tuned to every footfall, clicking bottle cap, and moment her hands rubbed together. He turned his head a moment to catch the sweet, subtle aroma of the almond oil that she always used first. He felt a few drops hit his calf as her hands hovered above the scarred skin.

The first time they were intentionally naked together, the first quick time on the couch not counting as very few pieces of clothing had been removed, he’d tried not to feel overly self-conscious, but it was difficult. Vaughn assumed she hated his scars as much as he did, but she reminded him that being self conscious with her was unnecessary. Sydney had assuaged him of his fear by letting him explore the scars on her legs along with the prosthetic attachment point.  _ “The last thing we need in the middle of this relationship is body shaming. Between the two of us we have more scars than all the children in L.A.” _

Since then he’d thrown his embarrassment aside when alone with her, the two trying to stick to their true selves as much as possible. Her fingers squeezed and pressed the almond oil into his ankle, moving up to his calf, and she pulled away to add more oil to her fingers before digging into the muscles of his thigh. While there was a little bit of discomfort as she worked out some knots from his sore hamstring, her gentle ministrations were doing a number on his relaxation and his libido. He felt his hardness growing and pressing into the blankets, no longer cool but quite hot against his skin, and he longed to roll over to relieve both the pressure and the heat building up.

Her hands hit his lower back, pushing into his hip, and a bolt of pain from the sore muscles made him jump and pull away. “Woah, sorry. It’s much sorer than last time,” she said softly before pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade in apology. He turned his head to the side with a grimace as she set the almond oil down and grabbed a different bottle. An herby medicinal smell hit his nose and he pushed his face back into the blankets as her hands rubbed the oil into his lower back, upper thigh, and across his hip gently at first but increasing in pressure as the moments passed. It tingled and made his skin feel fiery hot and then ice cold as it absorbed.

“That feels so weird,” his muffled words spoken into the blanket.

“Yeah, it’s the good stuff.”

“Holding out on me, Bristow?” Muffled still.

She laughed and plugged in the heating pad. She was in the process of sliding it under his aching hip when the front door opened and a grouchy Tony hollered into the almost empty house. 

“Sydney! Where’s the damned ladder?”

The pair sighed.

“And Tony ruins the day,” Michael grumbled, turning his head to face her.

“I’m working on it,” she promised, inferring for the third or fourth time that week that she was looking for her own place.

“The heat pad will stay on for 20 minutes then turn off, I’ll do my best to ditch them.”

“Issokay,” Michael muttered as his body continued to relax. “Next time. You help them with the lights, and I’ll just pass out here on the bed. If you do get rid of them, please wake me up in any way you see fit.”

“Sydney!” Another holler from downstairs, Sydney turning to face the door.

“You’re not a drill sergeant, be patient!” Michael chuckled as she leaned down and placed a kiss against his temple before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

“I told you earlier I used it in the backyard. Did you try to look back there?” She growled heading down the steps. Tony watched her descent with a sassy grin and narrowed eyes. 

“Where’s Emily?”

“She left to go play cards for the afternoon with her girlfriends.”

“So with me leaving  _ and _ her leaving, that means we  _ all _ left.” Sydney hit the bottom step with an annoyed glare, a smile poking at the side of her mouth.

“Your point?”

“Is Mike still putting away ornaments like a good boy?”

“He’s naked in his bedroom, which is where I should be, but you’re down here screaming about a ladder, so here I am.” Tony immediately blushed making her laugh. “You’ll never beat me at this, Tone, I got rid of my shame and fear in Afghanistan. Don’t ask and I won’t tell,” she ground out with a cocky grin and led the way into the backyard. The ladder was leaning against the side of the porch right where she’d left it earlier that day. 

Gesturing to it dramatically as if he’d won a prize on a game show, “oh calm down, princess. If you’re gonna be like this all afternoon, go back upstairs and get laid.”

They moved to the front spotting Dave at the top of a different ladder at the far end of the driveway unhooking the end of the string of lights. Sydney couldn’t stop her glare as she turned fiery, purple-hued brown eyes on Tony.

“I said I had one in the truck, doofus,” Dave mumbled through pursed lips that held several nails, not wanting them to drop to the driveway. 

“My bad,” he said lamely, Sydney punching him in the arm as the three of them finished taking down the lights strewn across the front of the house and yard. An hour later two big plastic tubs were closed in the living room, the brothers carrying them to the garage storage for another year, Christmas finally over at the Vaughn house. They made their way back up as Sydney moved the furniture back into place in the living room.

Tony flopped onto the couch with a hand over his chest, winded from carrying the tubs and running up and down the steps. “Neglecting your cardio lately? You went up and down the stairs once! I’m gonna make you start running with me,” she joked.

“Nah, just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night and some bitchy lady made me take down Christmas lights all afternoon,” he grinned as she tossed a decorative pillow at him. Catching his breath he and Dave grabbed their things.

“We’re off to get steaks! Need anything else?” Dave pulled his keys from his pocket and looking over at the young woman their family had quickly adopted.

“Bell peppers, all different colors, some onions, and carrots. Oh, and a carton of eggs. Emily is making potato salad when she gets home.”

“You shouldn’t grill vegetables, Sydney. They’ll get healthy juices all over the steaks.” Dave rolled his eyes at Tony promising to grab the ingredients and leaving through the front door.

On his way out Tony spotted her moving to the bottom of the steps. “Tell Michael I love him,” he whispered with a kissy face, Sydney laughing and flipping him off with both hands.

The home was quiet once more, Molly flopped onto her side in the middle of the living room floor as she snored softly, and Sydney made her way back upstairs. Peeking into Vaughn’s room she spotted him in the same position as before, ass to the wind with the heating pad still wedged under his left side. Grabbing the discarded sheet from the floor she draped it over his back and left him to sleep.

_ ‘Maybe we’ll have better luck at three in the morning.’ _

**…**

Michael woke as the sun was beginning to set, Molly licking his ear from her favorite position as ‘the big spoon’. Sydney assumed it was her protective instincts, but whatever it was, anyone that slept in the house had woken up being spooned by the lab at some point in her first week with them.

Moving slowly he found that his hip was much less sore than when he’d passed out, but still dressed in baggy clothes before heading back downstairs. Scents from the barbecue wafted through the house, Molly the first to the bottom as her tongue lolled out excitedly at the smells coming from the backyard. Emily was in the kitchen whipping up a thick brown sauce as two pots boiled on the stove, one little and one huge.

“How was your nap, dear?”

“Good; thanks, mom.”

“Tony and Dave got the grill running, head on out, sweetie. Could you send Sydney back in? I need help for a few minutes.”

He left with his orders after giving his mom a salute. “And where is your cane? You shouldn’t be walking around without it,” she scolded, Michael rolling his eyes and heading into the living room to fetch it before opening the sliding glass door. Molly bounced outside and looked around sniffing the air. Turning her eyes on Tony and Dave as they stood next to the grill talking, she followed the delicious scents wafting from the grill.

Sydney sat at the table with her feet propped on the chair next to her, Michael kissing the top of her head. “I thought I told you to wake me up if you got rid of them.”

She shrugged, “you looked content so I figured I’d let you sleep. Maybe you’ll have the strength this evening? Will and Francie are out all night at this fundraiser she’s catering.”

“Mom needs you in the kitchen, but when you get back I want you to strongly consider faking sick so I have to take you to the apartment and take care of you.” She laughed and stood, Michael stealing her chair.

Molly barked and caught his attention, Tony smirking down at the dog. “What, you like me all of a sudden? Or is it because I have meat?” The brother’s laughed, though for the next ten minutes she parked herself by Tony’s side looking up at the man expectantly. 

Sydney emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later moving to the grill with skewers of peppers, onions and large portobello mushroom caps, Molly whining again and leaning into Tony’s side. “C’mon, girl - go roll in the grass or something. You know I’m not giving you anything,” he grumbled with a friendly scratch behind her ear, though she didn’t move from her spot. Dave sat down next to his nephew as the two began to chat, Sydney dropping off the veggies by the grill.

“Meat only, Sydney - grills are for meat.” She rolled her eyes and slid them over the flames despite his protests. “Take over for me for a sec, will ya? I’m dying.” She took his spot as he pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head, a thinner tee underneath.

“You are sweating like crazy. Don’t cook yourself,” she pointed out, though the heat from the grill was warming the side of her face from just a few seconds of adjacency, so it made sense. Molly whined again, and when she was ignored she gave in to a bout of frustration by grabbing Tony’s discarded shirt and wringing it around like a chew toy before bringing it over to the man.

“Mike, I think your dog’s broken.” 

Michael called out and saw her reluctantly move and sit beside his chair. They conversed as things cooked, Tony closing the lid for a moment and flopping down at the table. 

“I haven’t eaten all day and the smell of those steaks is killing me.” Molly rose and walked over putting her head onto Tony’s leg. He rubbed a bit, grabbing his glass of water.

“You look pale again, Tone - you sure feel okay?” Sydney asked from across the table, a look of concern shining in her eyes.

“I’m fine, Doc, just starving to death and willing the steaks to cook faster.”

Emily called for some help from the kitchen, Tony moving back to the grill and Michael staying put at the insistence of everyone else that hopped up to assist. Molly made her way back over and let out a bark directed at the uncle.

“I’m  _ not  _ giving you a steak! Here - have a green pepper.” He tossed her a grilled vegetable, the dog watching it bounce on the ground and land next to her one front paw before ignoring it and sending out another bark. “Yeah, me too.” He closed the lid of the barbecue as a wave of dizziness hit him and he faltered in his step.

Molly barked a few more times moving over to where he was blinking the blurriness from his eyes and gathering his balance. “Woah, Tony, come sit down.” Michael was up quicker than he thought he could move as he put his good arm around his uncle’s waist. The dog went to the back door and barked a few times to catch Sydney’s attention as Dave was pouring the big pot of boiled potatoes into the sink for Emily, steam roiling into their faces.

Tossing the door open she saw Michael getting Tony into a chair, his face a pallid shade of gray. “Woah - what the hell? You said you were feeling fine,” she growled, snapping her fingers into the kitchen. “Mom, grab my medical bag from the closet please?” She didn’t wait for a reply and moved to the man’s side. Molly was whimpering at his feet as the medic tried to get her out of the way. 

“Tony?” Snapping in front of his eyes he flinched.

“What? Jesus - I said my blood sugar was crashing, calm down. I just got dizzy.”

Sydney shook her head and grabbed his wrist to take his pulse, Emily arriving a moment later with concern on her face as she dropped the bag onto the table and moved around to the left so she could watch. Pulling out the stethoscope Sydney pinched his wrist pulse again while setting the disc over the left side of his chest. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she popped the earpieces out and left the equipment around her neck before grabbing the mini flashlight to shine the beam in both eyes.

“Can you follow my finger, Tony?” She moved it side to side, the man’s eyes tracking though they seemed glassy. His forehead had a new sheen of sweat and he leaned forward a bit in the chair to take a few deep breaths as nausea bubbled around in his stomach. 

Sydney pulled out a bottle of Bayer aspirin from the pack, grabbing three and handing them to Emily. “Go crush these and mix the powder with about a cup of water please?” Again, not waiting to see if her commands were followed, she turned back to the man that had become her uncle while pushing down the worry and panic, flipping the switch into doctor mode. A serene calmness washed over her mind as she cleared out everything but the person sitting in front of her. The mother returned with the glass, Sydney placing it in his hand.

“Drink it.” With an eye roll the man downed the small glass of water, gagging at the bitterness of the crushed medicine. 

“You’re worrying about nothing, you know. I’m fine - just tired and hungry.” Sydney stepped back for a moment shaking her head. Her voice was calm and collected.

“Tony, I think you’re having a heart attack, understand that I am being very serious right now. I’m going to pull you up out of the chair and sit you down on the ground, but I just gave you aspirin which should help until the paramedics get here.” Her words were slow, soft, and yet deliberate. The tone said, _ ‘I’m here to take care of you’ _ while also implying  _ ‘do as I say, there is no other way’ _ .

Michael felt fear drop heavy in his stomach at her words, and he looked back and forth between his mother and other uncle as they too absorbed the news with similar looks of panic crossing their faces. It was only Sydney’s calming voice that was keeping everyone from falling apart.

“Emily, call 9-1-1 please?”

“What?! I’m not having a  _ heart attack _ , Sydney; that’s ridiculous.”

“How long have you been feeling like this? Have you been having any issues with your heartbeat over the last few days?”

The uncle closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness hit. “I’m not your patient, kid.” 

“Just today? All day? Yesterday too? How long, Tony?” She lifted his wrist again to take his pulse, not liking what she felt as she silently willed the blood-thinning aspirin to work faster. “C’mon, let’s get you on the ground just in case you pass out.” Again, her tone sounded so calming but also demanding. She went to hook her arms under his when he weakly pushed her away, his face losing what little bit of color he’d regained and sliding back to the ugly shade of gray from before.

“I can get up my damn self,” he growled and pushed off the chair to stand quickly on less than sturdy legs. A blinding flash of pain moved from the left side of his sternum to the elbow of his left arm, and he clutched at it as his body went limp. She caught him before he hit the patio feeling a twinge in her knee just above the prosthetic connection point as it objected to suddenly doubling, and a bit more, her weight.

Tony’s eyes rolled back as he went unconscious, Sydney hearing Emily talking over the phone in the kitchen through the open door. Lowering him to the ground she spotted Michael kneeling on the other side as his own training kicked in along with adrenalin, his cane discarded leaning against the table. Molly moved to lay over the man’s legs, a whine in her throat as she sensed the nervous tension in the humans. Sydney kept his head from hitting the ground before leaning forward and placing her cheek over his nose and mouth.

“God damn it, Tony,” she growled and sat up. She squared her shoulders, got up on her pain-filled knees, and placed her hands on his chest, one overlapping the other, above his sternum. The first compression down caused a series of small pops from his chest as two or three ribs cracked under the pressure, Sydney pushing aside the worry and dread as she turned on the internal metronome beginning her count to thirty. Finishing the first set she breathed twice into his mouth and moved up to feel for any breathing response against the skin of her cheek. Frustration set in when she felt nothing, and she sat back up to start another round.

“They’re on their way,” Emily sobbed, Dave pulling her close as they watched Sydney administer CPR. 

“Come on, Tony - don’t do this.” Words were leaving her mouth as another burst of adrenaline pushed away the pain in her knee as the leg protested her position. “Don’t,” compression, “you,” compression, “fucking,” compression, “dare,” compression, “do this,” compression. Leaning down to pinch his nose and tilt his head back, her mouth sealing over his and pushed in one breath, then another. She paused again and placed her cheek over his nose and mouth.

Exhaling in a rush as she felt a flicker of breath against her skin, “yes, yes, yes.” Reaching down she lifted his limp arm feeling for his pulse. It was faint and thready, but it was there. Sirens from blocks away were faint but getting louder, Dave rushing to meet the paramedics and lead them in through the side yard.

“He...he’s okay?” Michael’s strained question pulled her back to the present as she looked up as his tear-stained cheeks.

“He’s breathing and his heart’s beating again. It’s weak and shitty, but it’s going.”

A flurry of activity made her jump back as the paramedics filed in, firing questions as they and Sydney seemed to be talking another language while loading him onto the litter. “Emily, you go - we’ll meet you at the hospital.” Sydney stayed in charge as she saw the panic still present in the family as they watched Tony rolled out to the ambulance. The sister-in-law followed his side, another EMT holding her arm as she sniffled into a tissue.

Her adrenalin was starting to wear off, Sydney recognizing it and turning soft eyes on the remaining Vaughn’s as they stood at a loss for what to do. She picked up Michael’s cane and pressed it into his hand giving instructions but quickly realizing neither was listening.

“Hey,” she growled, lightly slapping both of their cheeks. “You two follow, I’ll turn everything off and get the house locked up. Do you understand?”

“Y-yeah. S-sorry,” Dave stuttered as the ambulance left in a flashing red blur.

“Did they say where they were headed?”

“He said he felt like shit. He said it hours ago. Why didn’t I listen?” Dave was beginning to panic as his breaths came out in short pants. Michael shook off his distraction and put his hand on his uncle’s shoulder.

“This isn’t on us, unc. It’s not on anyone. It’s just something that happened.”

“Dave - where are they going? What hospital?” Her voice was soft, yet demanded an answer.

The man tried to regroup. “Angel of Mercy, I think. Shit - what if we go to the wrong hospital?”

“ _ He’s _ going to the right place. If we don’t, it’s a mistake we can fix. It’s not a problem. You two go and I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

They nodded and moved to the front to load into the uncle’s pickup, Sydney mechanically turning off the grill and pulling the food out of the smoking interior. Tossing it on the tray she moved it to the kitchen and turned off the burners of the stove. Her throat was tightening as she felt a wave of anger and sadness rush out from her chest to her extremities.

Looking into the sink at the cooling potatoes her vision blurred as tears filled and spilled from her eyes, the last of her adrenaline wearing off as her legs folded beneath her. She ended up a sobbing pile on the kitchen floor as she pressed her forehead into the cool wood of the cabinet. Seconds ticked by as her internal dialogue was pushing at her to get back up - keep moving - don’t stop. Pulling a shuddering breath in she heard a whine to her right and looked through watery eyes as Molly sat on her haunches with her one good leg up placing the paw on Sydney’s hand as it splayed against the tiled floor.

“You knew, didn’t you? Why didn’t I know? I’m the doctor, you’re the fucking dog.” Sydney wrapped her arm around the dog’s neck and buried into her soft fur, Molly licking her shoulder. 

A few more seconds passed until the young woman pulled herself up off the floor, grabbing a paper towel and wiping it across her face. Moving to the living room, Molly on her heels, she grabbed her hoodie off the living room chair and the dog’s service vest and leash from the closet. The pair hopped into the Mustang and sped off to rejoin their family.

_ ‘I didn’t get to say goodbye to my mom. If - if there’s anyone or anything out there listening - if it goes that way - could you give me time to say goodbye?’ _

**…**


	18. Memory Lane

_ Blinding white light hurt her brain and the incessant beeping hit her ear with a droning whine. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, Sydney lifting her hand to remove whatever was pinching at her nose. _

_ She was intercepted each attempt, they sounded familiar, though she couldn't make out any of the words they were saying. Giving up, her arms feeling like lead weights anyway, her eyes cracked back open and blurry shapes appeared above her. _

_ Things began to come into focus and she recognized both Will and Francie, their voices coming in clearer. A different face appeared and a blinding tiny light flashed across her right and then left eyes before disappearing adding a third voice to the din. _

_ “Miss. Bristow? Can you hear me?” _

_ A groan as a response. _

_ “It’s okay, take your time. Can you understand me?” _

_ “Yeah,” she answered, her voice raw and raspy. Her throat felt like a desert. _

_ “Great! Can you tell me what your first name is?” _

_ “Sydney.” _

_ “Great! You’re in the hospital right now with some wonderful friends and family. Do you remember how you got here?” _

_ “N-no?” _

_ “That’s okay! Don’t worry about that. You are safe and warm, okay? Everything is fine.” The nurse’s voice sounded so upbeat and optimistic, though her face and actions were mechanical as she checked tubes, marked the chart, set the machine to take Sydney’s blood pressure, her hands practiced and quick. _

_ The room gradually came more into focus, Sydney attempting to lift her head but finding that room spun far too much. Giving up she flopped it back against the pillow looking over at her friends.  _

_ “What happened?” Smacking her lips the nurse handed the young black woman the cup of water with a bending straw, Francie jumping in to help as she offered it to her injured friend. _

_ “A car accident, sweetie. You’re okay though, I promise. Everything is fine.”  _

_ The water was like a balm to her mouth and throat, Sydney swirling it around a little bit before taking another gulp. Her foggy and drug-addled brain was trying to make sense of what everyone was telling her:  _ **_‘car accident?’_ **

**_‘I don’t even have a car.’_ ** _ Then she remembered her mother’s brand new sedan.  _ **_‘Oh shit...did...I crash mom’s new car!? Ugh. Great. Yet another thing for my dad to complain about, and now mom’s out of a car.’_ **

_ “I...is the car okay? It w-wasn’t mom’s n-new car, was it?” She stuttered through her thought process, her brain slowly picking up speed as the I.V. fluids began pushing some of the medication through her system. _

_ “Uh, sorry, Syd - the car was...totaled. But you’re okay. That’s all that matters,” Will spoke up, and if Sydney had been at any sort of normal capacity she would have instantly picked up on the sheen of tears in his eyes, the quiver to his chin, and the way his hands folded nervously in his lap. _

The shrill ringing of a cell phone several seats down yanked Sydney from her memories, the emergency waiting area at Angel of Mercy fairly full. The nervous flutter hadn’t left her stomach since they’d come in through the automatic doors, this hospital holding painful memories inside its walls. 

She’d spent nearly a dozen full days recovering from the accident on the second floor just above where they waited in a room she’d shared with her mother until she died a few hours after the accident. Her brain was so overloaded with emotion that she couldn't keep the memories at bay, despite not wanting to recall in every detail the worst moments of her life.

Looking around at her adopted family, aiming for a distraction, she noticed Emily’s eyes were glued to the floor with fresh wet trails on her cheeks. Dave sat wearing a worried frown looking at his cell phone, his thumb moving occasionally as he read some article or messed about on Facebook. Michael was at an awkward angle attempting to keep the weight off his hip in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs while Molly sat at attention to his right keeping her one eye scanning the room. Her nostrils would occasionally flare, head bouncing as she rapidly sniffed the air, and twice she was called back when she stuck her head under the seats searching around as her training kicked in.

_ ‘Once a bomb-sniffing dog, I guess. It’s really no different than Vaughn and me memorizing every person in this waiting area plus the points of entry and exit.’ _ She had seen Michael’s eyes dart around the same as hers as they entered, a habit that was hard to break. Dave didn’t look around at all, however, so at least she knew it was something they  _ could _ break over time. Hopefully, that process didn't take thirty years.

The clock on the far wall read 8:47. They’d been here for almost an hour. She sighed and closed her eyes running through a check-list in her brain for the procedures of diagnosing treatment for a heart attack. Though the classes she attended took place nearly 10 years ago, it was something that had stuck with her because of a conversation with her mother. She’d finished boot camp and an extra two weeks of entry-level medical training as she took the first step on her career path, Laura picking the exhausted 19-year old up at the airport.

_ “When am I going to apply heart attack procedure in Afghanistan with a bunch of twenty-something soldiers? I don’t know why that class was even on the list,” Sydney groused as she gave her mom a run-down of the last few weeks. _

_ Laura chuckled and tossed her young daughter a sideways glance. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sure Afghanistan has no local population over the age of twenty-five.” _

_ Sydney rolled her eyes in response. _

_ “Sydney - I might be a pediatrician but I’ve handled heart attacks and strokes in my office, and these are people not being bombed and shot at.” The red light afforded her a serious look. “Do  _ **_not_ ** _ shirk  _ **_any_ ** _ of your medical training. You’re not going to be in Afghanistan forever, and the life you save by knowing the procedural ins and outs might be your father or me one afternoon in the backyard.” She’d paused, the light turning green as her eyes faced forward once more, “probably your father, assuming he doesn’t work himself to death before we could save him,” she joked, the two sharing a laugh as they turned onto familiar neighborhood streets. _

Tears filled her eyes as she realized how right her mother had been, a trait that she’d always admired even if she acted annoyed, a teenager’s default reaction. At this moment, however, it was a curse. Never giving that knowledge up made Sydney acutely aware of the timeline governing Tony’s treatment - and they were past where critical decisions had to have been made. By now, medication had either worked or failed and surgery had become a viable option - possibly even something incredibly invasive. If he was still alive.

She’d reached her limit of sitting and doing nothing, and she couldn’t stomach the company of her own thoughts any longer. Leaning over to Emily she asked, “coffee?”

The older woman turned with a soft, sad smile and nodded, Michael offering to help but floundering in his attempt to stand. She saw the frustration before he compartmentalized it, Dave patting him on the shoulder jumping up thankful for something to get him out of that room.

The coffee vending machine was at the opposite end of the emergency waiting floor and the pair made their way slowly down the halls. She hoped he’d let it go, though by now he had to have noticed the limp in her step and the fact that they were walking much slower than possible. A moment later he spoke up, right on cue. 

“You can tell me to shut up if you want, but what’s with your leg?” He stopped walking and pulled her to the side of the hallway, Sydney wincing as she leaned on her right leg taking the pressure off the prosthetic.

“I just tweaked my knee a bit earlier. It’s fine,” she mumbled.

“Lemme see,” he pointed at her knee.

“What? What are you gonna do about it?” Sydney fired back getting defensive and knowing that if she rolled the pant leg up he’d see what she already scanned in the bathroom a half-hour ago - a swollen knee where she’d twisted it catching Tony’s sudden weight, and a purpling bruise when she’d then landed on it to administer CPR.

Dave nodded at her sudden wary tone knowing he’d hit a literal and figurative sore spot. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. You know...letting yourself fall apart to make sure we all survive is kinda counter to the point, Syd. We’d miss you,” he complained, though she saw the worry in his eyes and sincerity behind the jesting tone.

“Just...one thing at a time, okay?” 

He acquiesced and they continued their jaunt down the hallway. The small room housing the vending machines was surprisingly empty, the two pulling cash out and starting the brew on the first cup.

“I...I’m sorry, Dave.”

He looked up with confusion, “for what?” She stood a few feet away as her eyes took in the flashing lights of a parked ambulance outside.

“I should’ve known. I - I don’t know how I missed all the signs. I fucked up so hard,” she released a pent up shuddering breath along with a sob, the uncle-figure stepping quickly to her side and pulling her into a tight hug as she broke against his shoulder. 

“Jesus, kid, I knew you were tough but damn. Have you just been holding this in?” Cupping the back of her head with one hand as the other wrapped around her entirely he squeezed and held her till she calmed, minutes ticking past as the slow coffee vendor sputtered and brewed.

He didn’t let go when she attempted to untangle, a chuckle leaving his throat as she let out a frustrated sigh and gave in to rest her forehead against his collarbone and drop her hands from his back to hang limply at her sides.

He pulled back slowly seeing the hurt and sadness written across her blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. “Sweetie, no one is harder on themselves than you.  _ You _ saved him. When he hit the ground, he was dead. If you hadn’t been there our night would have ended very differently.”

“But if I’d paid attention-”

“And if I’d taken it seriously when he said he felt like shit three hours before he hit the dirt? Yeah, we can all play the blame game here, Syd,”

She shook her head quickly looking down at her fidgeting hands. “I’m a doctor. I should have seen it.”

She almost turned away but was stopped as his hands cupped her cheeks forcing her to look up at his tearful green eyes. “ _ Stop _ . Just  _ stop _ . This  _ wasn’t _ your fault. You  _ know  _ we would have ended up here  _ either  _ way. Don’t drag yourself down with this, Sydney.  _ You  _ said that he’s where he’s supposed to be and I  _ know  _ you’re right. Hundreds of thousands have come into these walls and left with their families because of people like  _ you _ .” Each accented word was emphasized with a slight shake as he held her firmly in place with his hands and gaze.

_ ‘What about those that never leave?’ _

He pulled her back to his shoulder with a tight squeeze. The coffee machine hissed, a beep announcing that it was finished.

Letting her go after pressing a kiss to her forehead, he made sure she was stable on her feet before moving over to the coffee pot and starting the second cup. “You gotta be better to my niece or I’m gonna beat you up.”

This pulled a strangled laugh from her chest as she wiped at her nose and cheeks with a napkin before rolling her eyes. “Like you even could,” she countered. 

After the third cup had finished brewing, he heard a softly mumbled, “thanks, Dave.”

_ Tears continued to fall from the corner of her eyes down her temples and into the loose hair disheveled on the pillow. Her chest felt like an empty pit and her mind played the events of the accident over and over like a horror movie behind her open yet unseeing eyes. _

_ Another bubble of sorrow swept up from her stomach along with a sob making her wince at the stabbing ache. Crying was intensely painful at the moment. Pressure and searing pain stabbed into her entire right side and she hoped the staples hadn’t come loose as they had earlier. _

_ The detective had spoken with her around dinner time where he announced that her mother hadn’t survived the day despite medical efforts, Francie and Will holding her as she cried from the emotional and physical pain. The driver of the truck that had collided with them had walked away with only a few scratches but was currently under investigation as they’d found some medication in the front seat. So far the information was limited. The vehicles had ended up on opposite sides of the road and there were no traffic cameras on that part of the highway, so they were going to keep looking into things. _

_ “If you can think of anything, any detail, it would help us out a lot. I know you’ve just suffered not only a terrible loss but a major accident, and I want you to know that I’m cognizant of that. I’ll leave my card here and you can contact me if you think of anything or if you have any questions, but other than that I’ll limit my contact until you’re discharged. Take your time and heal.” _

_ For hours she pushed herself to try and remember, to think past the utter sorrow of losing her mother - her closest friend and ally. To think past the pain of her broken body and throbbing side. She had to remember any detail that would help answer the question of what had happened on that road. _

_ It was nearing two in the morning when she replayed the end of the evening through her mind yet again, sleep eluding her. They’d climbed into the car and headed home at around one in the morning, Sydney’s mother falling asleep ten minutes into the drive after complaining that she was “too old to stay up this late” and that “my bedtime was hours ago”. _

_ Sydney let her sleep making sure it stayed quiet. She didn’t even turn on the radio.  _

_ Flash forward to waking up days later in the hospital. _

**_‘No. Go back. Think harder.’_ **

_ So she went back again, her brain getting a little more detailed as she tried desperately to recall moments in the car, out the window, the shining moonlight; anything to hold her in the memory longer.  _

_ Her eyes had blinked slowly, the monotony of the spaced yellow lines and the few headlights shining sporadically ahead and disappearing behind. Her limbs felt heavy, hands losing their grip on the steering wheel. _

_ A blaring horn, the shouting of her name, the bright headlights centered on the front window before everything exploded in a shatter of glass and twisted metal. _

_ She’d fallen asleep.  _ **_She had fallen asleep_ ** _. _

“Vaughn?” A voice dragged her from yet another painful memory, her mind seeming to delight at reliving her previous days in this place. Michael had seen how out of it she was and Sydney noticed for the first time that he’d move to sit beside her, his hand over hers. They rose to meet the nurse, the two of them staggering to their feet and pushing the pain of their lower halves aside.

The young man took them through large double doors and into a hallway leading to a side office. A doctor stood in the doorway with a clipboard in one hand as the other moved glasses from the end of his nose to the top of his head before reaching out to shake Dave’s in greeting.

“I’m Doctor Greene; I just want to say that Anthony is okay.” The collective breath released made him send a soft smile to the worried family. “He’s not completely out of the woods, but he responded very well to the second application of medications though he may still need surgery. He’s sedated and being evaluated by the surgical team right now. I don’t have much more information for you right yet.”

“Can we see him?” Emily’s question was the one on everyone’s minds, save Sydney’s as she knew it wouldn’t be possible for a few more hours, longer if he had to go in for a procedure. 

“Eventually, yes. They should finish up in about an hour. Assuming he won’t need any surgery he’ll be moved to a private recovery room on the second floor. If you would like to head home, I know it’s getting late, we could call once he’s moved to give you the details.”

Sydney looked at her feet as every single detail of her recovery room bounced into the forefront of her thoughts. Having spent nearly a dozen days memorizing the bland ceiling and white walls, and the ever-present ugly daisy picture hanging on the wall opposite her bed, it was quite vivid.

“It’s been almost two hours. Were there complications?” Dave couldn’t hold back any longer.

The doctor looked at his watch, “I’m sorry - I really have to head off. Can I catch up with you in the waiting room? I’m happy to give you more details,” he offered, wincing at the disappointment on their faces.

Sydney jumped in quickly knowing that it would drive the family crazy if she didn’t at least get some small piece of information from the doctor that she could translate for them. “Really quick, you said he responded well to the  _ second  _ administration of medication. Did the first round of thrombolysis fail for any extraordinary reason? Are you thinking it’s STEMI because of that?”

His eyebrows lifted as he realized she was in the medical field. Thankful he could just impart knowledge and bolt, he rattled off his explanation as fast as possible. “The CT and MRI showed a blockage, but I couldn’t tell from the scans if it was full or partial. The initial dose of intravenous eminase wasn’t effective so we injected a second dose via catheter closer to the blockage. That was successful at increasing blood flow which leads me to think it was as close to STEMI while probably being NSTEMI as possible, though it’s still hard to say right now. The surgical team will decide if we need to do a PCI or something similarly invasive. As I left I ordered an IV fibrinolytic agent and he’s responding well to that. Personally, I think the need for surgery is low but the guys upstairs make that call. I really need to run; I’ll get more information to you as soon as possible.” 

They were led back to the waiting area and retook their seats while simultaneously turning to the young woman expectantly. “I understood maybe three words,” Dave complained as Emily swatted at him while fixing Sydney with a concentrated stare.

“It’s mostly good news. The first round of clot-breaking medication didn’t work, so they hit it again. They inserted a catheter through an artery in his leg straight up to the blockage that attacked it with a concentrated dose.  _ That _ worked to loosen things up. Putting an IV of blood-flow stimulants in and seeing good results makes the doc think that he probably isn’t going to need surgery.”

Michael frowned. “So what’s next? What would make him need surgery?”

“He said he wasn’t sure what type of heart attack Tony had. STEMI is doctor jargon for ST-elevation myocardial infarction, or what everyone else calls it: a heart attack. We want NSTEMI, or non-ST- elevation. It means it’s a partial and not a complete blockage of the artery. It’s often fixed with a few days in the hospital and a lot of clot-killing medications. STEMI is a full block and would be bad. Depending on which heart attack he had will depend on what surgical procedure would be necessary.”

“What are the surgery options?” Dave asked.

Sydney looked away for a moment reaching back into her brain to try and remember the details of the different procedures. “Well, there’s a funky catheter balloon they insert into the artery to literally expand it to allow the drugs to work better. That’s the PCI that the doc mentioned. From what I can remember they would have already done it, so this tells me they’ve ruled it out. Uh,” she thought again, “there’s a stent which is like a temporary tube they insert that’ll keep things open, which is a possibility, or there’s a heart bypass.”

“So we just keep waiting?”

Nodding to Emily the young woman shrugged, “that’s where we’re at. The bad thing is not knowing what the surgeon will say. The good thing is that he’s reacting well to the medication.”

Emily squeezed her arm as her features visibly relaxed. “Thank you, dearie. I’m taking you to my next doctor’s appointment,” she joked and made them laugh, the group feeling upbeat for the first time in hours.

“I’m surprised I remember anything about heart attacks, I was 19 when I took the damn class,” she grumbled and leaned back in her seat as her mind settled a bit knowing more of the details.

_ "Your dad was here earlier, but you were sleeping. He said to give him a call when you woke up, but I figured I'd ask if you even wanted to see him." Francie saw a dark shadow pass over Sydney's eyes, the young woman finally upright on the bed for the first time in eleven days.  _

_ Tomorrow was her mother's funeral, the official day of her medical discharge. Though she was merely moving to another facility for rehabilitation and not going home, at least she wouldn’t be in this damned room any longer. Her secret was gnawing at her soul and she knew that she had to tell her father the truth at some point, but avoiding him by pretending to be asleep at the moment had been working.  _

_ The detective had said that things were done on their end. They couldn’t find fault on either side and though they doubted it was just a freak accident, the truck driver's drug tests had come back negative for anything that would have damaged his reaction speed or concentration. He was sticking to his story of, "she just ended up right in front of me, I can't tell you how". Unless Sydney suddenly remembered the night their chances of knowing better details were slim. _

_ They knew the car had missed the curve and gone through a gap in the median to end up directly in front of the passing box truck. The missing fact was that she'd fallen asleep. The man was right in that she’d ended up in front of him - but she was still the only one that knew how. _

_ Her mother's death was her fault, and tomorrow she'd have to face reality and look her father in the eye. Tomorrow she had to tell him the truth. _

_ "Thanks, Fran," she mumbled going back to staring at the far wall at the ugly painting of a daisy bouquet, one of the only things in her view other than beeping machines since her bed didn’t face the window. Though, the view out the second story glass wasn’t impressive unless she wanted to watch through the windows of the office building across the street. _

_ "Sweetie, do you want to talk about it? I mean, I'm here if you just want to vent." Francie was desperate to get her best friend to open up and live in some feeling other than despair for a little while, but all of her attempts thus far had failed. _

_ This time was no different. Sydney was thankful for her friend’s attempts, even if she didn’t show or say it, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit belittled by her tries. This wasn’t equivalent to getting dumped or failing a class. She didn’t  _ **_want_ ** _ to be cheered up, she wanted her mother back. _

_ She wanted the guilt to go away. _

Dave snored from the plush chair across the room, Michael tucking the blanket around his mother’s shoulders as she curled up on the sofa against the wall trying to stay awake but failing a few moments later. Tony was doing well and that made everyone relax, though emotions were still raw and no one wanted to leave him to go home, so they stayed.

Sydney stood at the window staring at the office building across the street. Most of the lights were dark save a few where the custodial staff was vacuuming and collecting trash one room at a time. Her mind was years in the past but she saw the same view, and because she was adrift in a sea of memory she jumped when Vaughn’s arm wrapped around her waist from behind, his chuckling apology in her ear.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me hobble over here.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and they stood for several minutes as the beeping of the monitors across the room acted as a metronome. “You should really get off your knee,” he said softly, hypocritically leaning on his cane. He didn’t care, though, and his shortened right arm stayed wrapped around her to hold her against his chest.

She nodded in response but didn’t move to sit, her eyes holding a fresh sheen of tears. “I hate being here,” she whispered, finally opening up about how she was feeling even if it was just a nibble.

Michael frowned seeing a drop roll down her cheek. “But we got good news, Syd. Tony’s going to be fine.” He stopped as she shook her head and looked down, wiping quickly at her face.

“I know, it’s...it’s nothing.” She stopped with a sigh.

“No, don’t shut down. I’m sorry, I...I thought you meant right here, right now; this moment. Tell me where you’ve been all night. You haven’t said anything since we got up here.”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” she mumbled and pulled away a bit just like she’d done that night on the couch when sharing about her mother. He recalled back to Tony encouraging patience since Sydney wasn’t used to having someone else take care of her, and this had afforded Michael some understanding when she pushed him away. In the last week or so, the physical or emotional distance was lessening in both distance and duration.

“Okay,” he replied, staying close and leaning on his cane while watching her attempt to compartmentalize her emotions. It took her less time than he thought it would to realize that she was with the one person where compartmentalization wasn’t necessary, the watery sigh she heaved a precursor to her finally opening up and telling him what had been bothering her the whole evening.

“The first day I spent in this room, this... _ exact _ ...room,” she swallowed against the rising emotion, her eyes still fixed on the darkness outside, “was the last day I spent with my mom.” She paused collecting her voice, “I was unconscious...of course, we both were.” She sighed looking back over at the bed where Tony lay, her hand moving to trace the scar on her side though she stopped and folded her arms across her stomach.

“The twelve days after that I was just so utterly alone.” He frowned at her soft words and took them in, repeating them in his mind over and over again in an attempt to figure out what she meant. 

“When...when Tony hit the ground my first thought was that I’d given him a hard time all day for not taking care of himself instead of being helpful.” Shaking her head her eyes shifted away from the sedated man on the bed and across to that same picture of daisies still hanging in the same spot. Though the wall had been painted a soft shade of blue, nothing else had changed. 

“I was...terrified after the ambulance left.”

Vaughn’s voice was quiet as he let her keep going, “why?”

Another sigh, her eyes looking away from the framed picture into his shining green stare, a tear slowly dropped making the trek down her cheek. “I was in  _ that  _ bed,” she gestured, “unconscious,”  _ shuddering breath _ , “five feet from my mother when she died.” She sniffled, “I didn’t get to say goodbye, and...I was so scared it was gonna happen again.”

Realization dawned slowly on Vaughn as his mind was exhausted, but he finally understood.

“W-what are the odds? The same...ugly recovery room,” sniffle, “ten years later,” she crossed her arms back over her stomach looking down at her feet as a tear plopped and soaked into the fabric of her sweater.

Squeezing shut his eyes he now knew what she meant, the sympathetic pain hitting him in the chest. “We could have gone home, Syd. I mean, we - we still can.” His brain worked on overdrive in an attempt to fix the problem and take her pain away. “I’ll ask the doc to move him to another room.”

She shook her head looking over at him with a soft, thankful smile. “It’s okay. But, I’ve been stuck in my brain for the last few hours and I - can’t get the memories to stop.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A shrug and she turned back out the window. “It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“You can  _ trust  _ me with this stuff.” He knew she was nearly immune to prodding, but he tried anyway.

She whispered and fixed tear-filled brown eyes on him, “I do trust you...I - I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t trust you, Vaughn.”

“It’s been hours, Syd.” He was frustrated that she would have rather sat in painful memories than just tell him what she was going through, but he pushed it down and took a breath. “I know it’s only been three weeks and I shouldn’t expect the moon because you’re so practiced at being guarded. I...I just can’t help but remind you that I’m here. In those times when I share or experience something with you...it feels lopsided, you know?” He paused seeing her frown and turn away. He continued, “I love that I can talk with you about all the shit I can’t share with my mom or uncles. It’s a literal life-saver, and I just...I want to be that for  _ you  _ when  _ you  _ need it.”

She let the words land and rattle around in her brain, her eyes back on her shoes as she chewed her lower lip. He assumed he’d overstepped and left her alone for a minute, moving over to the doctor’s rolling chair to take a seat. He found the stool to be more comfortable on his hip than the extra folding chairs an assistant had brought in for them and was grateful for how much it dulled the pain in his hip and leg.

“I’ve been trying to share more, you know,” she said softly and turned toward him, his hand reaching out in an offering of comfort. Settling her fingers over his he tugged her between his legs and looked up with worry-lines across his forehead. She focused tired eyes on the string hanging over his chest from his hoodie, his left hand rubbing at the tension he felt in her lower back as his stump hooked behind her thigh with the elbow resting on his leg. 

“Other than my dad, you are the only person I’ve ever told about that night. You’re the only other person that knows the truth,” she admitted seeing surprise flash through his eyes. Meeting his gaze and sending a small smile, “thank you for giving me space.”

“Always,” he replied, pulling her flush against his chest and tucking his nose into her throat. Sydney wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek to the side of his head, his breath fanning her neck. She needed the contact desperately, more than she’d admitted to herself, but Michael also felt comforted as the stress of the day began to ebb.

**...**

_ “Bristow?” A doctor stepped into the waiting room with a hurried stride and a look of desperation to find the right family as fast as possible. _

_ Jack was out of the chair before Will and Francie, her friends arriving after he’d called them to the hospital. _

_ “News.” The Admiral was used to giving orders and having them followed, the doctor obeying the barked command as he looked to the clipboard for the information scrawled in nearly unreadable pen. _

_ “They’re both in very critical condition, each rushed to surgery for massive internal bleeding, broken bones...the works.”  _

_ On his intake of breath, Jack interrupted. “I want details,” he ordered. _

_ “Uh,” the man paused while flipping through multiple pages tacked to the clipboard. “Your...your wife has a broken neck and back, crushing to the chest cavity puncturing both lungs, and a massive hematoma on the front of her brain.” _

_ “And my daughter?” Though others couldn’t hear the emotion in the father’s voice, Will and Francie picked up on it having known the man since they were in middle school. _

_ “She’s got,” he thumbed past a few pages, the pause making the teens fidget simultaneously while the intimidating man stood still as stone. “Uh. She’s got a broken right leg, perhaps broken right lower arm, crushing to her lower right abdomen causing a severe amount of internal bleeding. She has several broken ribs, though they’ll know more after the CT and MRI. Oh, and a nasty bump to the head, but no evidence of an intracranial hematoma. I’ve been asked to escort you to a waiting room near the emergency surgical ward if you will follow me,” he turned and led the way down the bright white hallways. _

_ Each mind was reeling at what they’d heard, Will and Francie glad for the news but wishing they’d been left out of the detail part as it was heartbreaking. _

**_‘How the hell do you survive something like this?’_ **

The brandy swirled around his tongue as he sat in his office, the desk’s reading lamp his only source of light as he ignored mission deployments and other folders filled with classified papers, the red stamped letters aggressive against the yellow of the manila envelopes.

His eyes were centered instead on a framed photo of his family. The frame had a layer of dust along the top and the photo was clearly taken years ago, the little brown-haired girl sitting atop his shoulders with a partially toothless smile, his wife at his side.

“I’ve made a whole mess of things, love,” he spoke into the darkness, a slight slur to his voice as he finished the brandy and poured another from the nearly empty carafe. “Our little girl is just-” he sighed and looked out the window at the looming streetlamp across the road, his eyes squinting before they adjusted. 

“She’s so damn much like you and I don’t know what to do with her. She was always closer to you, love. I...god knows I would have traded places with you that night so you could be here with her, teaching her.”

_ ‘She’s 27 years old. She doesn’t need a teacher, she needs her father.’ _ The Laura Bristow side of his mind jumped in and scolded him.  _ ‘She’s not that smiling little girl anymore, you old man. Why are you okay with missing so much of her life?’ _

He sighed dejectedly and set the glass on his desk, the creak of his chair echoing in the quiet room as he rose and walked over to a filing cabinet. The top drawer squeaked as it rolled, the wheels neglected over the years, and his heart panged at the sight of the album he kept hidden. Very similar to the one Sydney had, the two of them sharing a penchant for stowing it away and only letting the feelings inside once a year.

_ ‘Twice this year it seems,’ _ he thought with a sigh, his hands wrapping around the sentimental object before pulling it slowly from the hiding spot. Carrying it reverently back to his seat the binding made a cracking sound as it opened.

An hour passed as he poured over each page, Jack taking time to relive the memories immortalized in the images protected by plastic. Reaching the end he pulled out the last photo and set it atop the papers strewn across his desk, pushing the album to the side. Lifting the coveted framed picture and running a finger through the dust at the top, he undid the back and slid the photograph out. Moving it to the album, he sealed it under the plastic and closed the cover.

The only correspondence Sydney had with him from her tours was a single picture, and it showed her standing proudly next to a mangled, crashed chopper on the back of a huge flatbed tow truck. He smiled and turned it over in his hand seeing the scrawled writing that he’d memorized the moment after he'd read it.

_ I broke another toy. _

Jack flashed back to the memory of her tears as the six-year-old sobbed into his shoulder after dropping the new toy helicopter off the third-floor balcony of their home. Thinking the plastic contraption would fly, she was heartbroken when it smashed into pieces onto the cement patio below.

Unfortunately, she’d sent no other letters or photos. He’d pulled the report and read the details of that operation once they were available, however, and the pride he felt was transferred to this picture as it made it into the old, hidden photo album.

He replaced the family photo gathering dust with that of his little girl next to the crashed Blackhawk, intent on it serving as a reminder that she wasn’t his little girl any longer. Palming his brandy he leaned back staring at it with a small, sad smile on his lips.

_ “Any regrets?'  _ His mind asked for the millionth time since that day.

He shook his head and then downed the amber liquid. 

" _ Even if she never speaks to you again? _ "

He muttered to himself, “no regrets save the ones I’ve made since then.”

_ Jack rubbed a hand over his unshaven face, the three days of stubble scratching his fingers. He'd spent the last fourteen hours at the hospital afraid to go home as his wife and daughter crashed over and over again, going in and out of surgery as the medical teams tried to stay ahead of the issues. _

_ “We're running out of both options and time here, Jack. I can't stop Sydney from crashing much longer. With the removal of her crushed liver and one kidney, there's only so much we can keep stable while looking for a donor." _

_ The father closed his eyes with a pained sigh. "And there's no match?" _

_ The doctor shook his head. "Not yet. I'm gonna level with you; unless something shows up in the next twelve to twenty-four hours-" he left off seeing the tears in the man's eyes. "But," he paused swallowing past the lump rising in his throat, "I ran this analysis and...wanted to give it to you." _

_ Passing the envelope to Jack, the contents were quickly opened and scanned. "You…you can't be suggesting what I think you're suggesting." Horrified blue eyes bore into the doctor’s soul. “James...this...this is,” for the first time in a long time, the Admiral was out of words. _

_ "I'm not suggesting anything, Jack, just giving you information. The fact is that Sydney is already on dialysis after her remaining kidney failed yesterday, her spleen is non-functional, and she's developing breathing issues and skips in her heartbeat. Her organs are failing and...we’re reaching the point of no return very quickly.” _

_ They sat quietly for a moment as Jack’s eyes went back to the paperwork gripped tightly in his hands. He kept reading the words:  _

**_LAURA BRISTOW: DONOR MATCH_ **

_ "What you’re asking me to do...this decision-” swallow, “y-you’re asking me to make,” pausing as nausea bubbled up from his stomach, “I can’t...make this choice.” _

_ "Laura is stable because she's nearly braindead. I can't stop the hematoma from filling and building the pressure behind her skull, which suggests massive damage to the frontal area. The surgery yesterday to remove a piece of her skull to let it drain on its own is like a cork in a sinking boat." _

_ "Tell me... _ **_exactly_ ** _...your assessment." _

_ The doctor slumped tiredly in his chair. "Jack," he started, meeting the sad, steel-blue eyes of the devoted man across from him, "I don't want you to have to bury your whole family." _

_ "Does Laura have any chance to recover from this?" _

_ "The front right section of her brain shows zero activity. Yes...she has some brain wave function, but 75% less than an average comatose patient with brain trauma. We have absolutely no idea if she will wake up and I...I can’t answer that question except to say that it’s my medical opinion: no - she has little to no chance of recovering from this accident." _

_ Jack set the papers down and dropped his head into his hands, his voice low, “and my daughter?” _

_ “Unless there’s a donor, there’s nothing I can do but try and stay ahead of the cascading organ failure. I...it...it’s not possible to keep them both, Jack. I will never give up on a patient in my care and I’m  _ **_not_ ** _ giving up on your wife. But I can’t save your daughter without a donor.” _

_ “If,” swallow, “if we were to get a donor, what are Sydney’s chances?” _

_ “If it’s soon I think we can reverse most of the damage. Assuming the liver isn’t rejected, and with everything that’s happened today, I’ll give her a fifty/fifty shot, but that number goes down  _ **_every minute_ ** _.” The doctor pulled his glasses down to the tip of his nose before he continued. "Hold onto that file for me. I...wasn't supposed to share it with you, let alone run the tests. I just...I just wanted to put it out there, unofficially. This isn't my stance or recommendation, it's just factual information that you now have. The last page asks for a signature. Know that I can’t make any of these decisions without your consent." _

_ “How long do I have? Can you give me time?” _

_ The man shrugged. “It’s up to her, Jack. Unfortunately, you’ll know when time is up.” _

He looked down at the lined paper of a letter he’d been trying desperately to finish for the last two weeks. Sydney’s name was at the top followed by words, partial sentences, phrases crossed out and long paragraphs as he’d been searching for the right way to say what he needed to say. Pouring another glass of brandy he leaned forward in his chair and began to read what he’d already penned for the hundredth time since starting.

Squeezing his eyes closed against the tightness in his chest and throat, and despite his desire, he couldn’t keep the memories out. They were never far from his mind anyway, but the last few weeks had been difficult after their fight on the beach. He couldn’t unsee the betrayal in her eyes and lose the tingle in his cheek from the slap she’d delivered when he’d revealed said betrayal. When she read this, if he ever finished it and had the guts to send it, he was sure that same look would pool in her chocolate brown eyes - so much like Laura’s.

_ “Laura, what do I do?” Jack asked pressing his face into the blanket lying across her waist, the hissing of the machines breathing for both his girls mixing with the beeping of the monitors taking blood pressure every five minutes. By now he had tuned them out unless something went wrong. _

_ Sydney had just come back from another surgery, this time to fix a ruptured suture in her intestines that had caused bleeding around her kidney. Jack looked in her direction, the paleness of her face making the purple and blue bruises stand at grim attention. Setting his forehead back to the edge of Laura’s bed, he sobbed. _

_ “I need you here with me, love. I need you to wake up and tell me what to do.” Jack clutched at his wife’s frail hand, usually so strong, mindful of the IV placed in the back of her wrist. “I...I can’t lose you - either of you.” _

_ He’d been repeating the question of ‘whom can I live without’ for three hours since his meeting with the doctor, and the regretful and unhelpful answer he’d settled on was ‘neither’.  _

_ “You know I can’t take care of her by myself. I lost her at the Naval base half a dozen times and at three different museums by the time she was eight. Sweetheart, you have to stay. For  _ **_her_ ** _ , you have to stay.” _

_ Beeping from his daughter’s side of the room pulled him from his sorrow. It wasn’t a shrill alarm, though his eyes scanned the monitors out of habit seeing her O2 level dropping every few seconds.  _

_ 96% _

_ 94% _

_ 88% _

_ 73% _

_ Rising, he made his way over as a cough made her whole torso convulse. The airway was blocked by the breathing tube taped across her lips, though as he got closer he could see the blood inside the clear plastic coming from her mouth. _

_ The squealing alarm finally sounded and his eyes turned back to the monitor seeing the O2 level hit 50% and dropping even lower a second later. Hands pulled him aside as the contingent of attentive nurses threw around medical terms trying to figure out what had gone wrong this time, though when one growled, “her lungs are filling with blood - get the doctor”, he knew exactly what they were saying. _

_ James trotted in, the bags under his eyes deep for he’d had about the same amount of sleep as Jack over the last three days. “Get her to surgery.” Turning determinedly to the father he held his hands up pressed together in a style of prayer as his eyes begged Jack to focus on what he was saying. “This is it. I...I need to know what you want me to do.” _

_ “Do it,” Jack startled himself with the quick harsh whisper.  _

_ “You’re sure?” _

_ The Admiral nodded not trusting his voice. “James...if...if it doesn’t work, I...I’ll lose everything.” _

_ “I’ll do whatever I can, Jack. I promise.” He pointed to a confused nurse as she stood waiting for instructions. “Karen, Mr. Bristow is removing his wife from life-support.” Letting the words settle in he saw the surprise on the woman’s face. “Take her to surgical alongside her daughter and prep for an organ transplant.” _

A droplet hit the page blurring the freshly laid pen, and he sat frozen mid-sentence with his hand a mere inch above the paper. Laura always said he was better at matters of the heart when he wrote, his steely aura too hard to forego in a face to face situation.

Too long had he allowed his daughter to bear the brunt of the guilt. Despite assurances leaving his lips time and time again that it wasn’t  _ her _ that had done anything wrong, Sydney’s refusal to accept that fact was because she’d never been told the truth. Jack knew it was selfishness that had kept him from divulging his last, greatest secret, knowing that she wouldn’t forgive him for choosing to save her over her mother, but in that panic-stricken moment ten years ago his mind asked  _ ‘would you give  _ **_your_ ** _ life to save your daughter’s?’ _

Instantly and without hesitation: Absolutely.

_ ‘Would Laura’s answer be any different?’  _

Instant and without hesitation: Absolutely not.

So he’d said yes, his hand shaking as he signed the papers after they’d emptied the room, a soft goodbye and a kiss on the forehead the last moment he’d had with his wife. If Sydney didn’t survive the surgery he wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye before she was gone, and his heart broke yet again that night. The dark despair he’d wallowed in during the entire seven-hour surgery tied his stomach in knots.

Falling to the doctor’s shoulder in tears when they told him that they were successful and that his daughter was likely to make a full recovery, he felt the loss less, though it was a raw nerve for the first few hours after she was moved back to the room, now containing only one bed with one patient.

_ ‘I can’t tell her the truth, she’ll never speak to me again,’  _ became his mantra, and despite how much he tried to keep her from saying it he’d eventually failed and she’d ended up uttering those words anyway.

And yet he’d never shared, a secret he’d shouldered for just over ten years. Cursing the memories as they broke past his usual stony visage, one he’d erected out of necessity and with which he had become too comfortable, he finished his letter.

Pausing for a moment, he wrote one last sentence:

_ If you truly never speak to me again, it was still worth it. I will  _ **_never_ ** _ regret the decision I made to save your life, and I would do it again with my own heart if you ever need it. _

_ Love, Dad.’ _

**...**


	19. Uninvited Worries

Emily fidgeted with the cloth napkin wrapped around the silverware as she waited for her guest to arrive. He wasn't late, she was early, so as the waiter asked again if she wanted to order something while she waited. Another polite decline left her lips as a man in an impressive white uniform stepped up to the hostess. Casting a wave, he made his way over as nervousness gave her clammy hands.

"Emily," the Admiral started with a surprisingly soft voice, "thank you for meeting with me."

"Jack," she greeted warily, her hand dwarfed in his palm as he settled for a handshake before the two sat at the table.

An awkward silence hung in the air, Emily wanting to demand why he'd asked her to join him for breakfast, but as she studied his frame she spotted a few new things: a slump to his shoulders and more grey hairs than when she'd last seen him.

"What's on your mind, Jack? It must be something big for you to call me instead of your daughter."

"Our daughter," he corrected, his blue eyes finally meeting hers. 

Emily chuckled and focused on her empty plate for the moment. "What do you need from me?"

"I need you to give this to Sydney." From his coat, he produced a tattered, creased, and crumpled letter that she instantly recognized. It had been mailed to the house six times in the past four and a half months, Sydney sending it back unopened each time.

_ “Maybe you should read it,” Emily said quietly, knowing the answer. _

_ “No,” she would always respond before going back to whatever she was doing. This time, the mother pressed. _

_ “Why don’t you rip it up and throw it away? Why mail it back?”  _

_ “Because if I throw it away he’ll never know I didn’t read it.” _

Emily had to admit that she was beyond curious about the contents, but the young woman had been adamant that she didn’t want anything to do with her father, and rejected whatever peace he was attempting to solicit.

"Jack," she paused, the man seeing the recognition hit her face.

"She doesn't know what this says, or else she wouldn't mail it back."

"She doesn't care what it says, I think that's the point."

The conversation ended for a moment as the waiter arrived and took their order. "Sydney's biggest hurdle in life has been her mother's death. I'm not sure if you know any of the details," he paused waiting for her to confirm or deny.

"I only know how it's affected her. Despite our closeness, she's only shared that with one other person." She waved a hand in his direction, Jack feeling superior despite the fact that they were both wrong about that fact.

"That letter details everything about the accident and the following days. She...doesn't know the truth and should. I've always loved my daughter, but I've never been...forward with it enough.”

Food arrived, the two lost in thought as they ate the first few bites in silence. Emily was picking her words carefully, her eyes looking from her meal to the rumpled envelope, then to the admiral and back again in a circle.

"Why is this so important to you? What words could you say that will change anything between you two?" He saw in her eyes a fierce protectiveness. “And to add to that,  _ why _ is there such a divide right now? It’s never been this bad.”

Jack sighed. "Go ahead," he gestured to the item on the table.

Emily wanted to open it immediately and selfishly read through the contents, but a sense of betrayal resulted in her staring wide-eyed at the Admiral.

"No."

Jack frowned. "What?"

"It's meant for your daughter."

"She's mailed it back six times. Yes," he paused, "it's meant for her, but if she won't read it, she'll never learn the truth. It took me months to write it and months to get up the courage to send it, but she should know the truth."

"What truth is that?"

He leaned his head down speaking in a harsh, hushed whisper, "that  _ she _ didn't kill her mother,  _ I  _ did."

Emily was stunned and confused, and her instincts were screaming at her to grab the letter and read it from top to bottom as fast as possible.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He composed himself, squaring his shoulders and sitting tall as his eyes looked out the window at nothing. "It's all here, and all I ask is that if she won't take it  _ from  _ you, tell her what it says."

"I don't understand," she admitted.

Jack nodded. "I...wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important, I think you know that." 

They continued eating, Jack taking a moment to push the letter closer to her almost empty plate.

"You're not a subtle man."

"They don't allow subtlety in the Navy," the soldier said smartly, a ghostly hint of a smile tilting his lips.

Heaving a sigh and feeling the crumpled paper under her fingertips, Emily pulled it close and opened the lightly glued flap. Unfolding it with her left hand as her right sought out the reading glasses from her purse, she found it to be three pages long and handwritten, and met his eyes asking once more for permission.

He gave it mid-bite into a piece of toast. The next few minutes were nerve-wracking, though he studied the mother's face and saw her go through the gamut of emotions. In the end, he saw wetness on her cheeks, the woman removing her glasses and using her napkin to wipe at her face.

She folded the letter back into the envelope and set it back on the table before meeting his eyes. "I don't know what to say, Jack."

"She deserves to know that."

"I can't believe...I mean," she tried to find the right words knowing full well he'd likely already heard them since this was a ten-year-old event.

"Can you give that to her? And...if she won't take it, at least tell her what it says?" 

"That was an impossible decision, Jack."

The man sipped his coffee, his eyes focusing on her sympathetic stare. "Would you have done anything differently?"

"No," she instantly spoke in a soft but final tone.

Jack nodded. "That night...the accident...Sydney fell asleep. Yes...she...bears some responsibility and she'll forever hold that in her heart. But...she didn't kill her mother. There was a chance, however small, that Laura could have pulled through. Sydney had both...everything and nothing to do with that decision. It wasn’t her  _ fault _ , Emily. She deserves to know that.”

More silence between them as Jack’s normally steady hands shook while setting the napkin atop his clean plate.

“If...if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting. Whatever happens,” the father said, his voice unusually thick with emotion, “don’t tell me. Rip it up, throw it away, but...don’t let her mail it back. I don’t want to see it again.” Jack started to stand, Emily’s hand patting his bringing their eyes together as he realized he’d been avoiding her sympathetic stare.

“She bought a house,” she said quietly.

“She...did?”

Emily nodded, “about a block from mine; Tony and Dave helped her move in last week.”

“How is,” he cleared his throat before settling back into the chair. “How is Tony doing?”

“Thanks to Sydney’s manic pushing of his meds, exercise, and healthy eating, which he hates, he’s doing quite well; thank you for asking. Jack, can I ask you something?”

The admiral nodded, a sudden wariness to his steel-blue eyes. “Why are you comfortable with me being the only parental figure she has?”

“She hates me, Emily, and I’ve given her good reason, but...you’re better for her than I could ever be.” It hurt to admit, and he was surprised at how easily he was sharing personal details with the woman that had adopted his daughter over the last two years.

“You’re her father. She’ll always  _ need _ you, Jack.”

He smiled sadly and shook his head. “I never fully appreciated what it meant to have her in my life. I...spent so much time expecting things  _ from _ her, or being mad because she constantly defied what I expected, that I didn’t do anything with our relationship.”

Emily laughed, “that’s having children, Jack. You don’t want to miss everything from here on out. She’s 27 years old...she has a lot of life left.”

The mother took the letter and slipped it into her purse. “I’ll see what I can do. I promise,” she said and rose. “Thank you for breakfast,” she patted his shoulder as she left, Jack following a few minutes of reflection later. 

**…**

“Tippin!” The screeching voice cut through the active din of the office, Will collapsing into his hands at his desk with a worried sigh.

“I...I don’t have it quite yet,” he started, his boss cutting him off.

“Of that, I am  _ acutely  _ aware."

Will turned in his chair and leaned back. "I just have to do one more interview."

Litvac pulled her glasses off with one hand and tossed the thick file folder onto Will's lap with a whump.

"You have a dozen interviews in here and enough information on three major operations to write a novel. It's one article about one person for a once a year piece on a local hero. It's fluff at best, not front-page news. Who the hell else would you need to interview that would add anything to this damn pile?" Her voice was still a shrill, nasally shout.

"Just one more day, I'll get it done tomorrow and type it up and get it on your desk by Monday."

"The article is  _ due _ tomorrow for  _ print _ on Monday, Will!"

"I know. I'm sorry, I got held up waiting for the military to redact some papers before releasing them and-"

"I don't care. You have two other pieces due to me by tomorrow and I haven't even seen drafts. I'm sorry, but-"

"No. C'mon! No! Not this story...anything but this one." Will jumped out of his chair, fumbling the folder but keeping the contents from spilling on the floor of his cubicle.

The editor in chief held her hand up and silenced his outburst, the pleading reporter standing with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish knocked from its bowl.

"I'm giving it to Noah to finish up. He's done military stories before, and-"

"Ugh," he growled in his throat. "Anyone but Noah. Dear god; give it to Annie."

Litvak tossed her hands into the air, "she's a  _ secretary _ !"

"She'll write a better story than  _ that _ jackass."

A masculine voice laced with sarcasm spoke from the adjacent cube, "I thought we were friends, Tippin."

"Fuck you,  _ Hick _ ."

"It's Hicks, asshole."

"Knock it off, both of you!" The boss silenced the squabbling adults, the typically bustling and noisy office silent save a ringing phone in this distance.

"Noah went to Iraq and knows the subject of the article."

"He was a journalist that tagged along with an Army unit and spent a month in Afghanistan. Their breakup wasn’t exactly nice. She's not gonna talk to him!"

"Are you still pissed I dated your crush, Tippin?"

Blue fire flared in Will's eyes as the boss held both hands up to silence them yet again.

"Hicks will take over the piece. Will has editorial rights before it goes to print." Turning to Noah, the cocky smile he wore making her regret a part of her decision, "you  _ will _ get an interview with Sydney Bristow  _ this afternoon _ . You  _ will _ have a copy of your article for Tippin to read tomorrow, and-" pausing to turn on Will, " _ you  _ will read and make editorial suggestions to Noah by midnight tomorrow. It's on  _ my _ desk Saturday morning where I will get it ready for print. Period. End of discussion."

Turning and storming off, she spun on her heel, "and I want those other two pieces by the end of the day, Will!"

The newsroom went back to normal once Litvac's office door closed with a slam. Noah slapped his hand against the top of the wobbling cube.

"Hand it over," Noah held his hand out and wiggled his fingers for the transfer of the file folder stuffed with the work Will had been doing for the last year.

While he wanted to toss it in his face and force the asshole to spend the next ten minutes picking the mess up, Will handed it over with a sad sigh.

"Don't screw it up. I don’t care if you’re holding a grudge, but she deserves this piece and I’ve put too much blood, sweat, and tears into getting this shit for you to write a revenge article on your ex."

Noah rolled his eyes and tucked the folder into his shoulder bag.

"And do the interview tomorrow, not today," Will ordered.

"I hear you loud and clear, Tippin." Walking from the cubicles, he turned in the doorway and hollered, "is later this afternoon still today? I'll tell her you said hi."

Will fell back into his chair with a heavy sigh, though he had a small smirk on his lips. Abby, the office secretary, poking her head in giving him sympathetic eyes.

"I'm sorry, Will, I know how hard you were working on that story  _ and _ how close it was to home. I just-" her lilting British accent stopped mid-sentence, "why are you smiling."

"Sydney's having a housewarming party today. That's why I was going to wait until tomorrow."

"So?"

Will chuckled. "There are no less than five Marines there at this very moment, and Sydney will be less than thrilled when her ex shows up. He's gonna say something insanely inappropriate at some point, he can't not, so if  _ she _ doesn't punch him in the face, one of the other's absolutely will. I’ll get the juicy details when I get there after work."

"Will she do the interview?"

"If he tells her it’s for me? Yeah."

“Will she do it for him?”

“No way in hell.”

**…**

Emily shooed Molly out of the kitchen as she carried a plate of marinated chicken breasts and wings out to the backyard. 

"Mom, you could have just given me your barbecue sauce recipe," Sydney tried again, Emily rolling her eyes with a cackle.

"You'll get it in the will like everyone else," the mother promised.

The doorbell rang, Emily offering to answer as Dave added the new additions to the grill. It was all chicken, turkey, and vegetables as Sydney was forcing them all to follow Tony's diet to a tee.

Wiping her hands on a dishtowel she made her way from the newly broken-in kitchen, through the living room and the folding chairs that served as temporary furniture until delivery of new couches, and opened the door.

A confident young man with shining blue eyes and crookedness to his mouth greeted her with a smile. "Hi! I'm hoping I have the right house. Is Syd here?"

Emily relaxed seeing that he wasn't there to try and sell the new homeowner anything.

"You're at the right place. Come on in, everyone's out back." Stepping aside, the mother extended the invitation.

"Everyone?" 

"Yeah. Sydney's back there as well." 

Noah looked around seeing stark, freshly painted walls bouncing warm colors around a nearly empty space, and he laughed at the lawn chairs as he passed.

"She just move in?"

"That's why it's a housewarming party," Emily chided, though her smile turned to a sly grin at the surprise on the man's face. "You...weren't aware of that? How do you know Sydney again?"

"I'm an old friend, plus I work with Will. I mean, it's been years so she definitely wasn't expecting me, but I'm here to do that interview for him. He didn’t mention a party, would I be intruding?" Noah asked, cursing that he fell for Will's  _ 'don't go over today' _ order that he’d let play off his ego. The other reporter had to have known what was going on and knew that he would go against whatever he suggested.

"This is for Will's story? Oh good! He interviewed me months ago and honestly, I figured he would never get it done on time. People aren’t going to begin arriving for another hour or so, just the family is out back."

"Family, that doesn’t sound too bad. What was your name?"

"I'm Emily."

Leading him through the house, his heart beating a bit faster with each step, she pointed to the open sliding glass door before turning right and stepping back into the kitchen.

"Go ahead, I've more to do here. It was nice meeting you…" she left off, and he realized he hadn't given his name.

"Uh, Noah."

Someone he recognized turned from where she was stirring at the stove.

"Oh...my...god. Tell me you are  _ not _ standing in the middle of her kitchen right now, Noah Hicks." Francie's voice was instant aggression, the smile leaving Emily's lips at the hostile familiarity and obvious history between the two.

"Look, I'm just here to do an interview."

"Will's interview?"

Noah realized the other reporter may have ratted him out. "Yeah. Litvac gave it to me because he's behind, I know Syd, and have other military stories under my belt. I didn't want it any more than she's gonna wanna give it, but it's Will's work at stake here."

Francie's eyes narrowed. "Since when did you grow a conscience?"

The man adjusted the book bag digging into his neck and answered with a cocky grin.

"By all means, join the party. We'll watch from here." Swinging her arm in a dramatic arc toward the door, Molly looking up from her spot under the kitchen table, Francie hit him with a smarmy grin.

The man stepped through, Emily moving to Francie's side.

"Who did I let in? He said they were friends."

"Oh, just a cheating jerk of an ex. It'll be fine," Francie assuaged the mother's surprised face, "I've always wanted to watch a group of Marines beat the crap out of that dude."

In a shocking display of language that Francie didn't think Emily would dare utter, "oh shit."

**…**

"Damnit," Tony growled as the washer clanged against the carpeted edge of the board and bounced into the grass instead of the intended target of the five-point hole.

"You're washed up, old man," Sydney laughed behind the mouth of the beer in her hand.

"Bristow, if you toss out another pun-"

"He's right," Michael said in a harsh, audible whisper, leaning his arm into Sydney's shoulder. "We should aim to be better."

Tony growled as he tossed the last metal ring, throwing his hands in the air when it skidded over the hole and into the grass to join the other three missed throws.

"That's another in the bag," Michael whooped as he and Sydney shared a high five.

"You two cheat," Tony growled and turned to sulk back to the patio.

"Oh come on, Tony, it's just three in a row. Wanna swit-”?"

The younger Vaughn saw the smile leave his partner's face and followed her eyes across the yard to see a man he didn't know standing awkwardly on the patio.

Sydney saw the girls watching with curiosity on their faces from the kitchen window and pieced together Emily letting him since Francie would have slammed the door in his face. 

"You have...a lot of balls, I'll give you that." She said loudly and moved toward him, Noah taking a second to give her a once over. 

Her light brown hair was in a loose ponytail, the chocolate ends swaying around her shoulders as a few errant strands hung around her face. The blue v-neck short-sleeved shirt clung to her chest and tapered down her waist before bunching at her hips over a pair of tattered jean shorts. Further, his eyes were drawn to her legs, or rather what was left of them. The metal of the prosthetic glinted in the light, the lower of the left leg disappearing just below the knee.

_ 'How on the wrong foot do we wanna start off?' _ Noah thought for a moment, but couldn’t help himself as the snarky comment flew through his lips.

"That's a shame, Syd. Your legs were always my favorite feature."

The men in the yard froze and if they were dogs she was sure their hackles would be raised as growls spilled from their throats.

“Who the f-” Dave started, the metal fork fisted in his hand. Sydney hit the patio and lifted her hand to wave him off.

"Strike one," was all she said and set her drink on the table before slipping her hands in her pockets exuding relaxation backed by bright, challenging brown eyes.

"How many strikes do I get?" The brave man stepped farther out to stand a few feet away from the person he assumed was going to punch him in the face, though it was a greater distance from the angry man with the meat fork. Being punched was better than being stabbed.

Michael and Tony stalked over, the frowns bringing out identical wrinkles on both foreheads.

"How many do you feel you deserve?" Her voice was cold but calm, none of the Vaughn's having heard that tone before.

"Touche. Mind if I sit?" Noah gestured toward the table. The two green-eyed men, one older and one younger, flanked her on both sides.  _ Definitely _ Marines and they  _ definitely  _ wanted to pummel him into the ground.

While he was thankful that Sydney probably wouldn't let them, he assumed it was because she’d just do the job herself. If he was going to get his ass kicked, he figured it should be earned.

"I dunno, are you going to be here long enough?"

"I'm here for Will. Litvac gave me one of his stories to finish up because he's behind on a deadline. That's it. I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."

Sydney scoffed and lifted the bottle, taking a swig. "You're still perceptive as ever."

"You gonna do this or not?"

She sighed, and every other person there held their breath. They all wanted to know what the man was there for, but more than that, who he was. There was very real and deep animosity between the two, which was unusual for Sydney as far as they knew.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll tell you what I'll do."

"Will was putting together an article on you for the yearly local hero piece. He took his sweet ass time, and now I have to get this interview done today. Help a guy out?"

Sydney rolled her eyes at the semi-pleading tone he was faking. "If I do an interview am I helping Will or am I helping you?"

Noah sighed impatiently, his ire rising at her words and composure. "Syd, c'mon."

"If it'll help Will, I'll do it."

"Great." Yanking the strap over his head, the bag hit the sturdy plastic table covered in a bright tablecloth with a thump. Extracting the thick file, Sydney's eyes widened and recognized Will's handwriting all over articles, redacted reports, and at least half a dozen sticky notes and note cards attached and scattered between probably a hundred pieces of copy paper. He sat across from where she stood and held his hand out for her to join him.

She acquiesced, elbows resting on the table as she waited impatiently for the reporter to ask his questions. Michael and Tony sat to either side of her, suspicion not leaving their faces as they followed her lead.

Noah flipped page after page looking for something he'd found earlier and feeling the pressure of eyes watching his every move.

"It's probably easier when  _ you _ do the work, huh?" Sydney's quiet judge made him pause and glare a second before resuming his flipping.

He found what he was looking for, shut and pushed the folder aside, and set the clipped pages in front of him before looking up with a tilt to his lips.

"I was beginning to forget the reason we broke up, but two minutes with you and it all comes rushing back." 

Sydney let the dig land by taking a drink from her beer before replying. "It was the cheating if you actually forgot.”

Michael shared a surprised look with Tony and Dave as the man was revealed to be an ex-boyfriend. That knowledge made him want to punch the cocky jerk even more.

“I’m not the only one that cheated,” Noah countered.

Sydney shrugged, “You should probably get to some of your questions before you have to leave.”

“We’re interested in three operations: Camp Michelin, the helicopter crash, and Shaykh. Can you give me details on those?” 

It had been a while since she’d seen business-boy Noah, and it was just as annoying as every other time he’d tried to pull it on her. 

“You’re telling me that in that stack of files you don’t have anything on all three of my tours?”

“There's plenty. I need quotes in your words so I can add it to the info Will already dug up.”

Michael was kind of excited to finally hear her war stories despite the crummy way they were going to be shared. Not that they hadn’t talked here and there about tour experiences, but they'd sort of left each other alone about the harder missions. When he thought about reliving his time as a POW it made his stomach twist, so he at least knew how she'd felt when holding back some things.

“Michelin wasn't an operation, it was a F.O.B..” She stopped seeing his confused look, “a forward operating base. It was about three klicks from this village in Afghanistan, I can’t remember the name. It was my second combat assignment and in three months the most we’d had to deal with was blown sand in someone’s eye.”

The reporter stayed silent.

“I was stationed with a senior medical officer and one unit which added up to two squads - around 20 soldiers. One squad was in town looking for an informant and they got ambushed."

Noah nodded and his hand motioned for her to continue, the pen between his fingers unmoving as he deemed what she was saying apparently unimportant background he already knew. Sydney took a swig of beer and let it rush over her tongue for a moment as she sorted through what she wanted to say versus what she wanted to keep from coming up.

"They came back to the FOB with two humvees loaded with wounded soldiers and civilians.”

"What types of injuries and how many?"

"Lots of bullets and shrapnel, one lost limb. They had grenades but no IEDs, not that our guys had found. It was seven casualties, three Marines and four civilians."

"That's a lot for two medical staff to handle."

"That was the first wave," she clarified, Noah's eyebrows raising. "The humvees went back out because half of the first squad had taken cover in a bombed-out building. An hour or so later they came back with a few more they’d managed to pull out of the firefight, though it was all-out war from the sound of things. By that time they were being bombarded by mortar fire from just outside the village."

"How many is a few?" He pushed her for details. He wanted to know everything about this operation and had a vested interest in extracting every juicy detail. When she’d admitted everything to him she claimed that it was a thoughtless decision made while being emotionally exhausted, and he just had to know what that entailed.

"One humvee, five casualties. Another Marine and four civilians: two adults, and two children."

“How old were the kids?”

“All under ten.”

Noah did some quick math. "So you had twelve patients. You and this...other medic."

Sydney heard his pause and actually appreciated that he was holding back what he really wanted to say. Sure, by the time she’d fessed up to cheating he’d been banging every chick that gave him the time of day, but she learned that later. Still, she’d screwed up and he had a right to be angry. At least until she found out about the eight women that had been in her bed while she was out of the country.

"For the first half of the day, yeah. Seven hours and three trips later we had eighteen. That's when the rest of the unit pulled all the way back to the F.O.B.."

"Do you wanna  _ give  _ me details or do you want me to keep reminding you that I need them?"

_ ‘And I was just starting to feel like you weren’t being a jerk.’ _ she thought. "Seven Marines and eleven civilians."

Noah nodded. "Just bullets and shrapnel?"

She frowned, her memory flashing back to the crazy amount of blood that had soaked into the dirt floor of the underprepared medical tent. She could recall the sharp panic in her voice as she recruited three of the unwounded soldiers and forced them to assist as she and Shep had triaged the casualties. The mess tent was a biohazard nightmare by the end as they’d commandeered it along with medical, the shining metal cafeteria-style tables and seats splattered with blood. That’s where the toddler had died, the wounds she couldn’t treat pulsing blood from his tiny body. She shook her head out of the memories and redirected a narrowed glare in his direction.

"We pulled 15 bullets and 27 pieces of fragmented metal out of eighteen people. We put tourniquets on seven arms and legs, three of them blown off and one the arm of a six-year-old. Do you know how hard it is to put a tourniquet on the arm of a little kid?”

Noah frowned at the sudden emotion in her voice and realized that he’d said something wrong, but wasn’t sure what it had been. “No,” was all he could answer. “Did the kid make it?”

“No. So, be careful when you say  _ just bullets and shrapnel _ . Don’t  _ ever _ trivialize that shit with me again."

There was a prolonged moment of silence, but she was rock steady. Her eyes never left his face while his looked down to the piece of paper to read what he had so far written. "How long did this whole thing last?" Though his tone softened, he didn't hide the annoyance at her correcting him when he didn't think it was necessary, and he didn’t apologize.

She took a breath and continued. "The extraction was four waves over eight hours. The stabilization and waiting took longer."

"Did anyone radio for relief?"

Sydney nodded. "They said they would be able to provide additional support at the FOB after gaining control of the village. I mean, three clicks is like, just under two miles. We weren’t close, but close enough to hear the explosions and gunfire. The only available road went through the village. They were worried about IEDs despite the fact that our vehicles had driven the road almost ten times that day.”

Noah jotted down a few notes. “How long did that take?”

“Eight hours.”

"Why?"

“Because that’s how things happened. There weren’t any available helicopters, and the nearest units that could be diverted were a few hours away. We weren’t under siege, the F.O.B. wasn’t being attacked, and we had ten guys watching every angle. Command would reassess if the Taliban made a move, but until then we had to wait for them to gather a unit and clear a path.”

Noah stopped writing and looked up, “so what did you do while you waited?”

Sydney rolled her eyes behind another drink of the nearly empty bottle. “I’m not trying to justify what happened, I’m just giving you details.”

"In your own statement," he started and looked through the folder for a moment, his words broken between his thoughts and his searching, "you said," another pause, "ah."

Sliding the piece across the table she picked it up and recognized it as her own report to higher command about sleeping with Shep. Better to put in a report yourself than have someone else do it for you. 

"You said that the incident at the F.O.B. put you into a period of 'emotional exhaustion'. Would you...elaborate on that?"

"I’m not apologizing again, so if that’s all you came to get..." she left it up to him.

“I’m here for whatever you’ll give me on Michelin,” he said.  _ ‘I wanna know what the excuse stemmed from,’ _ he thought.

Sydney nodded, tossing the report down. “You know that I can’t give you any details that you can actually put into print. Everything I’ve said is as deep as you’ll be able to go.” 

“Humor me.”

For the first time since he arrived, she felt like she wasn’t in charge. “Fine,” she growled. “The first thing we had to do was triage. Two Marines were shot in non-vital locations so they went to the bottom of the list. I had one of them hold pressure against the bullet hole in his thigh for six hours until I could get to him. He understood."

She thought for a couple of seconds, “we moved the least serious to the cafeteria tent because medical ran out of space."

Noah broke in, “why were so many injured do you think?”

Sydney frowned thinking of the best way to answer that question. "There was one family that came in together in the last humvee. Mom, dad, toddler. Shep had one of the Marines helping him remove this civilian’s arm because the bullet had shattered the lower part of the humerus and we couldn't stop the bleeding. So, I went to triage their kid. He was...covered in blood."

Her eyes stayed on the bottle, thumbnail picking at the label stuck to the brown glass.

"The bullet had gone into the side of his head," she dragged her finger from the front left of her forehead to just above her temple, "and I could probably get it out if I could see it, but the father pointed at me and said one of the only Arabic words every U.S. soldier that served over there knew: kafir. He added ‘alnisa’ and spit on my shoes.”

Noah looked expectantly for the translation.

"Infidel," Michael said quietly. "It was a Taliban village."

Noah looked between the two, “what’s the other word mean?”

“Woman,” Sydney nodded. "That's why it took hours for them to get through. And when they did, they brought more wounded with them, but a larger medical staff, so it worked out. It was a small village, maybe a hundred people. But...when the majority is against you, you get outnumbered pretty quick. The ambush caught everyone by surprise, and they were in the market early in the morning, hence the civilian casualties."

Noah continued to write so she kept speaking. At this point, she was assuming he was able to keep up and if not, that was his loss. She was only going to say this once.

"I tried to have a corporal stand-in for me. We didn’t have a flat spot in the tent so we went to the mess and put a sheet over the serving line. He’d taken two bullets. A through and through in the chest puncturing the left lung, and the one in his head. That corporal tried to do everything he could with thirty seconds of training and me just...giving orders over his shoulder, but his hands were too big. We just...watched as the kid died. I can still hear his mother as she screamed and hit her husband for not letting me help.” She paused, taking a breath. “Three months later that corporal killed himself, but that’s...that’s a different article.”

“Yeah, we can't print any of that,” Noah said as he finished a sentence on the paper. 

“You wanted to know what emotional exhaustion meant. That was one ten-minute slice of that whole day. Now you know.” Leaning back in the chair she flopped her hands in her lap, her eyes letting him know that she wasn’t done fighting if he was game to keep going.

The reporter kept his eyes on his notes as a minute or so went by, Sydney feeling Michael’s fingers brush hers. Turning her head she peeked at the side of his face and saw tightness in his jaw as he glared daggers at her ex across the table, but his hand was loose and gentle as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles.

Noah picked back up as he pointed at his notes, unreadable from where she sat. "Wait. The ambush happened, and in eight hours you stabilized 18 people, then four hours later reinforcements came? Clear up the timeline for me."

Sydney scoffed and they could hear some bitterness behind her lips. "The timer didn’t start until  _ after _ the first eight hours."

Noah set the pen down calling her out. "You're telling me that two doctors stabilized 18 people for nearly 20 hours?"

Sydney shook her head sadly. "We stabilized ten people for 20 hours. By the time the unit arrived we’d lost two Marines and six civilians, three of them children."

"What was the name of the senior medical officer?" Noah asked and looked up to meet her cynical eyes, his giving away that he already knew the answer.

Sydney let out another laugh. "You just can't let it go, can you?"

"I just asked for a name, Syd."

"Shephard. Captain Chris Shephard. He was a medical surgeon. At that time I was going to go into surgical instead of combat medicine, so I was stationed there for real-world training. Which I got. Between tours, I switched to a combat position, despite the fact that I wasn’t going to rank as quickly as if I stayed with surgical."

“Why?”

“Because three months of nothing and twent hours of horror wasn’t as much  _ fun  _ as the seven months flying rescue. At least that was more consistent and, honestly, I missed the action. Jumping out of a helicopter into insanity was something I could handle better than sitting in a surgical tent waiting for things to happen.” 

The sun had begun to set, Sydney checking her phone and seeing that the first of the guests would arrive soon. Not only did she need to kick out her ex, but she would need to spend a few minutes away from prying eyes to compartmentalize his visit before everything kicked off.

"How long after the nearly 20 hours of intense, life-saving medical procedures before you slept with him?"

"Strike two," Michael growled, Sydney casting a thankful sideways glance in his direction. She knew that she already owed him several explanations, but he was going with the flow which she appreciated.

Noah grinned and held his hands up relenting his attack. "Is it safe to say that Michelin got you to Lieutenant?"

She nodded. The reporter passed another piece of paper over, a typed letter with an unreadable signature scrawled on the bottom. He set it atop the first still in the center.

“That’s a letter from Captain Shephard recommending your promotion, is it not?”

Sydney nodded.

“You know how that looks, right? When you put those side by side?”

Her eyes flew up to meet his, nearly black for a moment as he suggested what she thought he suggested. “I think you’ve more than worn out your welcome.”

"Let's go to your second tour. You were in a helicopter crash about…" he paused while flipping through the folder looking for the information.

“No. I’m done.” Sydney stood, the others following her lead, Noah the last still sitting at the table.

“Michelin got you to lieutenant, but your second tour got you the silver star. Give me a comment on that, and I’ll leave.” Rising, he picked up his bag and reached for the folder, coming up empty.

"You got a silver star?" Tony finally spoke, pulling the attention as he stood flipping through the papers in the folder looking over everything with wide eyes.

It was Sydney's turn to dig in her heels. "I’m not going to comment on that."

Noah kept side-eyeing the older Vaughn making sure he wasn’t removing anything from the folder. "You stabilized the pilot, co-pilot, two other medics, removed the threat, and held your position  _ alone _ until rescue showed up. We may hate each other, Syd, but even I think that’s impressive. Give me something."

"Removed the threat," she repeated as if the words stung her worse than any of his aforementioned barbs. “A medic shouldn't get a medal when they kill people."

Noah laughed and nodded, "other than the insults, that's the most Sydney thing you've said so far."

Sydney took a threatening step forward, Michael’s hand around her wrist grounding her. He wasn’t sure why he was stopping her from knocking the asshole on his back, but he was. 

Noah huffed through his nose and yanked the bag back over his shoulder before extending his hand toward Tony for the folder. The green-eyed man tucked it under his arm and shook his head. “I think I’ll hold onto it. Will is going to be here soon and I’m sure he’ll be happy to get it back.”

Knowing when it was time to quit his arms flopped to his sides. Turning and putting a glare toward the young man holding his ex back, he felt he had one last dig in him before he left. “You Michael Vaughn?”

He nodded, happy that he’d turned his attention on him rather than the woman fuming in front of him.

"Let me know if you wanna hear more about Captain Shep. A cautionary tale from me to you."

Sydney yanked her arm free from Michael’s light hold and pointed at her ex. “Oh, fuck you, Noah. How many girls were  _ you  _ with while I was in Afghanistan? You can’t stand that  _ you  _ finally got to know how that felt.”

The man laughed seeing he’d finally prodded her enough to get the fiery Sydney he’d been used to fighting with years ago to come out. “First Shephard, now Vaughn. Do you usually screw your commanding officers? Because it looks like you got your rank by fucking your Captains."

Dave reached for the man set on dragging him out and tossing him on the sidewalk, but Sydney was both closer and faster. Her fist crunched into his face and sent him down hard onto his backside, the air escaping in a whistling hiss from his likely broken nose. Blood pulsed from his nostrils and down both sides of his face as he covered his face with a hand trying to staunch the flow.

Michael’s arm wrapped around her waist literally lifting her away from the prone reporter thinking she was going to follow through and wail on his already crooked face, but she didn’t struggle.

She did, however, have a dark fire in her brown eyes as she panted a snarling, "get him...the fuck...out." 

Dave stepped over the bleeding man and hefted him up into a stand. Turning and pushing him across the yard with a hand clutching the collar of the stained button-up shirt to keep the stumbling man from falling. Escorting him to the side gate and into the front yard, Dave tossed him with a push onto the grass, Noah finding himself back on the ground as blood trickled down into the back of his throat.

“If you bother my niece again, I’ll be seeing you.” Slamming the fence closed behind him, he left the broken man in the yard.

Michael set her down nearly as quick as he’d grabbed her, but wasn’t prepared for her to yank free and hurry inside. Emily tried to speak up but failed as Sydney briskly walked to the back of the house ending up in the master bedroom. He followed whispering, “I got it,” to his mother, a crash at the far end making him quicken his step.

She stood panting with one hand balled into a fist as the other flexed her sore fingers in the middle of the unpacked boxes they’d shoved into the bedroom to make room for the party. She’d kicked over a small stack releasing her anger and it had spilled the remainder of unpacked silverware onto the hardwood floor, hence the crash.

He closed the door behind them and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. After a few moments, her breathing calmed and he looked up at her tear-streaked cheeks.

“You got a hell of a right hook,” he grinned, trying to break into the icy emotional wall he could see her constructing.

“You’ve probably got...a million questions.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

He shook his head. “Is your hand okay?”

She tisked through her teeth and looked angrily down at the swollen middle and ring knuckles of her right hand. She wiggled the fingers and knew they weren’t broken, they just wouldn’t be pretty for a few days. 

Sighing she flopped down next to him soaking up the calm he exuded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He chuckled, “I’m only mad that I didn’t get to hit him first.”

She dropped her head and focused on her lap.

“You don’t owe  _ anyone  _ an explanation, Sydney. For him or for anything he said.”

"I know, but," she paused looking up at him for a fleeting moment, his features completely relaxed and supportive. "I think I should explain a few things,” she started, her eyes dropping back to her lap. "I mean, I just want you to know that...yes, I cheated on Noah. But it...that...it was a really specific circumstance."

Vaughn grinned as she fumbled her words, something very unlike her. "I'm not worried."

"I just don't want you to think-"

"I don't." He interrupted

"You have to know that I would never-"

"I do." He interrupted again.

Sydney exhaled in frustration at his nonchalance at what she was saying or at least  _ trying _ to say. "Will you at least talk with me about this?” She stood and slowly paced around the boxes. “I still feel like I should explain. I don’t want you to think of me as  _ that _ kind of person. I don’t think I can handle having  _ that _ affect  _ us _ .” she whispered.

“I can prove how much I don’t care if you want, Syd, but...it’ll ruin a lot of plans,” he said, and she turned to look at him wearing a mask of confusion on her already worried features.

“It...it’s not a thing with me in relationships, I promise.”

“Why is  _ this _ bothering you so much?” There was something under the surface and he was determined to find it.

Sydney loosed a watery sigh. “This family is all I’ve got. If...if that asshole put just  _ one _ seed of doubt that makes you trust me less...I could lose all of you. And I,” she paused with a sniffle thinking of how to convey the fear of being alone again to someone that’s always had an amazing support structure.

Vaughn stood and moved over to a stack of boxes, lifting the flaps and poking around. 

“What are you doing?” She sounded exasperated and frustrated.

“Looking for something. Go get an ice pack for your hand,” he ordered, pointing toward the bathroom.

“Vaughn, I don’t want to have this hanging over the whole night,” she started, her hands wringing with a wince as she prodded a swelling knuckle. He turned with gentleness on his face and pointed toward the bathroom.

"You're a doctor, which means you immediately unpacked the first aid kit, I know you. Go get the ice pack and we'll talk." He assumed she would follow his instructions and went back to rifling through an open box with his one good hand.

She obeyed and found the kit under the sink, the breakable inside the pack popping and cooling instantly. Setting it to the back of her hand she returned slowly as he patiently waited on the edge of the bed with a comforting smile.

Settling beside him she focused her eyes on the cold pack, unable to look anywhere else.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

“Why?”

As soon as she started, she had to stop.

“You’re apologizing for something that you haven’t done, and won’t ever do. So why are you apologizing?”

“Because now it’s there.”

Michael chuckled. “So?”

“So now it’s just...looming.”

“Not for me. Why for you?”

Sydney sighed, “because once a cheater.”

“Ppft,” he buzzed his lips but softened his voice. “Sweetie, Noah was a prick.  _ Is _ a prick. He didn’t deserve you then, and sure as shit isn’t getting a piece of you now. He can say whatever he wants, but nothing I heard today changed how I feel or think about you.”

“But-” she mumbled, still unconvinced.

“You’re gonna make me prove it, aren’t you?” 

She turned grumpy brown eyes in his direction seeing him already studying her with the tilted grin she’d learned to love. “Prove _ what _ ?”

Michael grumbled with fake annoyance bumping her shoulder with his. "Please believe me when I say that I had a plan. Because I did, and everyone was in on it."

Sydney looked more confused than ever. She felt him take the ice pack off her hand and toss it to the bed behind them. “What are you-”, her gaze followed the arc of the pack but jumped back when the back of his hand landed softly on her thigh.

A small black velvet box sat against his fingers with the lid open, and the air sucked from her chest. Embedded in dark purple silk was the silver band and glinting diamond of a delicate engagement ring.

**…**


End file.
